Starting Over
by Becca-W
Summary: *COMPLETE* Flailing like a dying spider, the people rally against the gov't once again - in Africa. And Relena is caught between it and her own life, suddenly gone crazy - and she is not the only one.
1. Ch.1 Discovery leading to changes

  
Disclaimer: the day I own GW is the day I move to the North Pole.   
  
  
  
  
Relena listened carefully to the speaker, taking down notes on a pad of paper she had brought with her every so often. The Vice Minister of Nigeria was explaining the many violent outbursts that his people had to tolerate in their country by anti-government rebel groups. He was asking the Cinq Kingdom for their military help; the fights that the rebels were creating in the streets where hazarding many innocent lives every day.   
  
The Vice Minister spoke with a clear, loud voice. He stressed the importance of peace in his country now that the war had passed and it was still vulnerable. His dark eyes searched every face at the meeting and only met stern, vaguely interested expressions, the kind that signaled business.   
  
The sunlight that shone through the large windows behind the Vice Minister was soft and buttery, a late spring day. The smell of coffee, tea and leather was strong in the cramped room where the meeting progressed. Relena shifted in the black leather seats. They were uncomfortable, hard and expensive. She fingered the small china cup in front of her, all attention toward the speaker.   
  
He finished up his speech and sat down. The long, rectangular table seated a dozen people; only six sat there that day. The Vice Minister from Nigeria and his two assistants and Relena with two of her other ministers.   
  
Now, one of the assistants stood up, coughed, and began her speech. She explained what the rebels where trying to achieve. She described their point of view of the matter, and then, that of the governments'. Relena listened with rapt attention. The dark haired woman talked in a low, throaty voice, something that didn't go along at all with her tall, slim figure. She held the eyes of everyone in turn.   
  
When her speech was at an end, Relena felt a deep respect for this woman. Her name was Anne Nibolga, born in the capital. She had worked as the Vice Ministers' second hand for years. Her experience in the field was obvious.   
  
Now, the meeting was finished with. Everyone shook hands, packed their suitcases, and left. The next meeting was a week from tomorrow. Then, the Cinq Kingdom would explain what they were going to do. Relena silently promised herself that she would help as much as she could, hopefully without the use of an arsenal.   
  
Outside, a warm breeze lifted Relena's bangs off her forehead for a moment. Accompanied by two guards, she walked calmly toward her limo, waiting at the end of the walkway. The large building, made of canvas-colored stone bricks, slipped behind her, lost in the large lawns surrounding it. When she reached the fence she assured the guards she could walk the rest of the way alone.   
  
With a farewell nod, she climbed into the limo. Hands in lap, she watched the scenery pass by as Pargan drove her to her mansion, at least an hours drive away if they didn't get stuck in bad traffic on the highways. Plain gravel driveways and treeless lawns slowly transformed into large, busy roads, filled with trucks and sports cars.   
  
"Is everything all right, Miss Relena?" Pargan asked over his shoulder as he maneuvered the awkward limo through the other cars, "You've been very quiet for the last twenty minutes. The meeting went well, didn't it?"   
  
"Yes, it did." She told him." How long will it take to get back home?" She added. Pargan shrugged.  
  
"At least another half hour." Relena nodded thoughtfully.   
  
"Thank you." She leaned into the cushioned seats, enjoying the feeling of something soft supporting her. She rewound the speeches she had heard in the meeting in her mind, carefully selecting the main points the Vice Minister and the assistants had named, asking herself what she could do about that, what he or she meant by that, and so on.   
  
The time passed by very slowly. Relena glanced out the window to her left; they were still on the highway.   
  
Actually, they had stopped.  
  
"Pargan, is something wrong?" She craned her neck to see over the seats in front and out the windshield. But all she could see was a lot of cars and a cement truck, all honking their horns.  
  
"A car crash, I presume, Miss Relena." He answered. Flinching, Relena hoped it wasn't bad. She sighed and clicked a button on the armrest of her car seat. A soundproof glass shield smoothly made an appearance in front of her, stretching upward till it met the ceiling of the limo. Now, Pargan could play his music in peace without her questioning him.   
  
Relena let her mind wander away from the meeting and the beeping of car horns around her. She thought of home, and supper. She thought of tomorrow, and her schedule.   
  
Finally, her thoughts had inched away from business.   
  
Seventeen. She was seventeen, only a few months from eighteen, and already a political leader. Sometimes, she had to remind herself of that.   
  
School. She suddenly remembered school. The giddy girls that had surrounded her, the teachers' lectures, the homework... She had basically quit school at the age of sixteen when this job had been quite literally thrust onto her. Everyone had expected her to grow ten years older overnight. But, she had welcomed the opportunity, no matter how tiring or frustrating, to help bring peace to people. Especially because of the war, everyone needed peace. They had needed someone to keep peace, too. And that's what she had given her whole life over to.   
  
But she had never finished school. Relena felt a little puzzled about that. Her calendar was booked, but why hadn't she fit in a little schooling in between? Probably because she was a little happy about not having finals or term papers anymore, but...still.   
  
Maybe she could do something about it. Relena straightened from the slouch she had eased into. The cars ahead were finally moving. She was going home.   
  
  
Relena tapped her pen against the surface of her desk. She stared at a document in front of her with unfocused eyes, thinking.   
  
That school idea kept bothering her, edging into her mind at the most unnecessary of times. She bent down, opened a drawer and took out some paper. Relena began to doodle on it, absently wondering how she might be doing in her old high school had she stayed, that private school for the rich and those with scholarships only. Where she had met Wing Zero's pilot. The first time he had told her he'd kill her...  
  
Relena bolted up suddenly, shaking her head free of those thoughts. Relena dropped the pen onto the desk and picked up the paper.  
  
She had drawn a large building and a few people around it, supposedly teenagers. Since she didn't have the best skill in drawing, the building looked like a cardboard box, and the people were more a series of branched out lines (making up the hands, legs and torso) and a blob for the head, maybe some fuzz for hair. Relena smiled at her poor attempt at art. She remembered being better at English and the debate team than art...  
  
The phone at her elbow rang loudly, piercing through her thoughts quickly. She grabbed the receiver.   
  
"Vice Minister Darlian here."   
  
"Good morning, Miss Relena." Relena relaxed her voice.   
  
"Good morning, Lady Une. How are you?"   
  
"Fine. I have the document ready, should I run it by you?"   
  
"No, just send it over, I'll read it."   
  
"I will. Good bye."   
  
"Lady Une?" Relena leaned forward in her seat as if the speaker were in front of her.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"I have a question to ask you." There was a brief pause before Lady Une answered.  
  
"I'm listening."   
  
"What would you think of my finishing High school?" Another, longer pause followed this.   
  
"This is sudden." Lady Une sounded puzzled.   
  
"I know. But I feel that I have a responsibility, and..."  
  
"When did this come up?"   
  
"Only a few weeks ago." Lady Une seemed to consider this.  
  
"Miss Relena, do you want to talk about this in person?"   
  
"I would like that." Relena felt relieved.   
  
"Good; come to the Preventer's Headquarters after tomorrow at nine; we can go into the details."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
"Your welcome." Lady Une waited in case there was more.  
  
"Good bye." Relena held the phone in her hand for a moment, slightly dizzy. She carefully set the receiver down; what had she just gotten herself into?  
  
  
Duo hopped off the last steps of the jet, a small suitcase in one hand and his hat in the other. He grinned into the drizzle of rain, and headed for a rundown car across from the runway. The downpour intensified; he finally set the hat on his head, and his bangs blurred his vision as they drooped lower and lower into his face. He didn't even wear a jacket.   
  
The small car came closer; Duo hurried around it to the passenger's seat and got in, shoving his suitcase into the back. He slapped the driver on the back in greeting.   
  
"Hey, Heero, thanks for picking me up." Duo settled into his seat. "What's with the weather?" Heero shrugged and turned the key; with a few discontent rumbles the engine started.   
  
"So, where are we staying?" Duo asked him. The rain muddied the sides of the road, creating large puddles and ruts by the tires; Heero turned into the highway and headed north, water splashing onto the sides of the car.   
  
"At my apartment."   
  
"Do I have my own room?"   
  
"No."   
  
"Oh. Heero?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"How about some windshield wipers?" Heero activated the wipers; the road didn't become any clearer. The rain was coming down in sheets; they couldn't see more than five feet in front of them. And yet, Heero insisted on driving at seventy miles an hour.   
  
"Where am I going to sleep then?" Duo grumbled.  
  
"On the floor." Heero replied. He turned onto another, less used road going northeast. Duo gave him a disgruntled sidelong glance.   
  
He then reached back with an arm and hauled the suitcase into his lap. In silence he shuffled through its' contents, looking for something specific. He finally got out a simply bound package. This he handed to Heero, who took it without looking away from the road.   
  
"I can't believe I got this for you and you're giving me the floor."   
  
"The bed's as bad as the floor, you're not missing out on anything."   
  
"I'd still rather have the bed."   
  
"Humph." For a few minutes Duo just watched the muddy green landscape around them pass by.  
  
"Hey, you're probably not going to use it anyway, right?" Heero raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I mean, you're going to spend the time in front of your laptop while I do the labor, so I might as well get the bed."   
  
"It's not up for negotiation, Duo." Duo let a sigh escape.   
  
" 'Fine friend you are." Heero didn't reply. Some time passed while the rain pitter-pattered against the windshield, the gray clouds pressing down on them from all directions.   
  
"Can I at least operate the coffee machine?"   
  
  
  
"Sit down." Lady Une motioned toward a high-backed chair. She herself sat down on a couch, smoothing her skirt down.   
  
Relena smiled and obliged. She made herself comfortable while a maid came in and busied herself pouring out a cup of tea for Relena and a glass of white wine for the Lady. Only when she had left and shut the door did Lady Une speak.  
  
"Have you really thought of finishing your schooling?" She  
tipped her head to the side, her hands folded in her lap. Relena nodded.  
  
"I've been seriously thinking of it."   
  
"What brought this on?"   
  
"I had some time to think, and it came to my mind. Nothing spurred the memory into action; I guess my train of thought pursued it."   
  
"Do you know what would happen if you decided to follow this notion?" Relena took a moment of thinking before answering.  
  
"Yes, I do know. I would have to take on many more responsibilities before going to school; I would also have to decide whether or not to make this a public announcement or not. If I did announce this, I'd go to the school I had gone to before I became Foreign Vice Minister. If not, I would have to develop a difficult schedule to fit my new routine and my old one and a list of other things would have to be thoroughly sorted through. It would certainly put a tax on the patience of the other members of the council." She added with a smile.   
  
Lady Une nodded.   
  
"And that's not the half of it." Relena waited for the rest of the speech she knew the Lady would give. "Are you really aware of everything you'll have to do, public announcement or not? If you decide to go undercover as a student at some other school, you'd have to travel back to the Cinq Kingdom every weekend, regardless of your academic duties or the possibility of failing, as well as at every vacation. And if you do go undercover, you would have to invent a whole past for yourself, a new name, origin, even parents. You wouldn't be able to tell anyone of this. The country would, of course, be made aware of the situation, but I doubt you'd have the protection of a whole league of bodyguards without making someone suspicious. " To Relena it sounded like she was fully against this, and it made her think the Lady wouldn't offer her help. "Every fact would have to be planned accordingly; nothing could be risked in your getting unnecessary attention.  
  
"But," To her surprise, Lady Une smiled a little, "you would have some independence, and a more normal adolescent life for a year. Who knows, it might be a good experience. But, if you do go through with this, it will take a great amount of work; much more than what you're busy with right now. Because of the situation in Nigeria and the weaknesses in other eastern governments, you're free time will be very scarce. I doubt you'd have much time to yourself at all. We'll have to think of excuses for the lack of national appearances, too.   
  
"Do you think you're fine with all that?" Relena brought out a brave smile.   
  
"Would you help?"   
  
"Of course." Relena sat in her seat, absorbed in thought. She sorted through the information that Lady Une had given her, picking up her cup of tea in the meantime. With slim fingers she tapped the rim, not sipping from it. Lady Une waited patiently.   
  
Relena finally focused her eyes on the expectant ones of Lady Une.   
  
"I really do want to; if I am going to be a political leader and peacemaker, than I should have a full education. I should get my high school diploma, anyway.  
  
"I know the preparations will take up every bit of mental strength I have, but..." She looked down into the cup she held, staring at the swirling surface of the tea, "I want to."   
  
Lady Une nodded.   
  
"Good."   
  
With that, she picked up her own glass of wine and took a long sip from it, enjoying with pleasure the taste and texture. This was going to be an adventure.   
  
  
Duo placed his suitcase on the floor of Heero's apartment. Heero pushed Duo aside so he could come in, and moved to the computer set up on a collapsible table. Duo took a look around.  
  
It wasn't anything different than what Heero normally had. A rumpled bed pushed to the wall, a chair, a table, the computer, and a window. Then, two doorways opposite the bed; one went to the cramped kitchen while the other led to the bathroom. Other than that, Duo saw, nothing else.   
  
"Charming place." He noted out loud. Heero tapped in something on the keyboard and the computer came alive with a buzz. "Did you at least stock the fridge?"   
  
"I wasn't hungry." Duo kicked his suitcase under Heero's bed and pulled some money from somewhere in one of the pockets of his pants. He counted it up quickly.  
  
"This should be enough. 'Be back in a while, don't wait up." With that, he grabbed the car keys and marched out the door. Just before he completely disappeared from the compound, he stuck his head around the door. "Don't try anything stupid, okay?"   
  
Heero didn't seem to have heard him.   
  
  
"What size are you, Miss?" The maid asked. Relena, dazed to the point of only paying semi-attention, turned to her.   
  
"Small, I think..."   
  
"Miss Vice Minister? Telephone for you; it's Lady Une."   
  
"Can you tell her I'll-"  
  
"Miss, you're needed here."   
  
"Miss Vice Minister? It's the President of Nigeria! He needs to reschedule his appointment with the council, something's come up-"  
  
"-Tell Lady Une I'll call her later, please." Relena finished in a tired tone. The lady nodded and turned to deliver Relena's message.   
  
"Miss Relena, you're needed in the fitting room." Another maid had appeared in front of Relena's face.  
  
"Vice Foreign Minister Darlian!" Someone called. "The plane trips are organized!"   
  
"Thank you!" She called back. It had sounded like Maria. Someone tugged her arm till she followed obediently into the back of the office, now turned into a fitting room for her school wardrobe.   
  
"What's all this?" She asked when she saw the heaps of cloth.   
  
"The things we'll need to make your clothing."  
  
"I won't need all this, really. Would you please buy some casual things?"  
  
"What brand?"   
  
"Anything...something that'll last a while..."   
  
"Yes, ma'am." Relena heard someone call for her in the hallway and she bolted out.  
  
"Miss Vice Foreign Minister?" It was a secretary.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"From the Preventers; they sent it over." It was the speech Relena had promised Lady Une to read. She had obviously decided to not send it by E-mail. Relena took it, thanked her and turned to face the next person.  
  
"Ma'am, you need to look over this..." A folder was pushed into her expecting hands, "Got them here as soon as a I could."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Relena looked over her shoulder to see if anyone else needed her attention. Next, she made her way to her office. She had to sit down after standing up all day. She also had to see what was in the folder; it was bulging with freshly printed-paper and felt remarkably heavy.  
  
Anyway, she had to call the Lady back.  
  
  
Relena leaned back in her chair, eyes wide. Minister Davis stood in front of her, lips pressed tightly together in her stern face, hands clasped in front of her. Relena looked from her to the papers in her hand.  
  
"Oh..."   
  
"You will start school as a senior," Minister Davis spat, "In August. Your High School will be Linden High in Montreal, Canada. You will not be Relena Peacecraft; you will be Lena Burg, from the Cinq Kingdom. You will live in a four-room apartment close to the High school on Walden Street 36; the apartment has one bathroom, one bedroom, a kitchen and a living room.  
  
"Your parents are Karl and Lisa Burg; Mr. Burg is a dentist, Mrs. Burg a bartender. Your parents have gotten permission from the province to let you live on your own in Montreal, as long as you keep the rules of no drinking, no illegal substances, or breaking your 11 o'clock curfew.   
  
"Your classes are listed in the packet of papers about your school. You will pick up random items such as your library card and Student ID at the office when you arrive. Much more is named and severely detailed in that folder, but if you have any questions, ask Minister Io or me." She cleared her throat and Relena rifled through the paperwork.   
  
"The Province and the country have been notified of your stay. They are offering immediate transport and aid if need be." There she stopped.   
  
After a few minutes the girl sought the face of the Minister.  
  
"You don't like what I'm doing, am I right?" She asked.   
  
The Minister's stony expression melted into one of frustration.  
  
"I have absolutely no idea why you are creating such a hassle to please a whim, if that's what you mean."   
  
"This is not a whim."   
  
"There's no reasonable explanation of why you need to go traipsing off to a foreign country without any protection what so ever to go to school, Miss Foreign Vice Minister. There is much danger in someone finding out. You are running a great, foolish risk of creating chaos among the political ranks, too. Just what do you think you are to accomplish? I am not for your doing this at all."   
  
Relena had been sitting rigid in her seat, head slightly bent. Now, though, she stood up. Minister Davis was a known five foot eleven inches in height, but Relena made herself as tall as she could.  
  
"I am thankful to you for your opinion and involvement in the matter; but, as Foreign Vice Minister, I overrule your right to veto my 'whim'. I will carry this out; by next year, I will have completed my education and return fully to my duties. I understand every one of these risks; they go through my mind all the time, but I am willing to take these in order to serve the people and help with Peace. Do I make myself clear?"   
  
Minister Davis towered over her, but recoiled at the overly polite tone of Relena's voice.  
  
"I understand. I will still voice my mind?"   
  
"I want you to."   
  
"Good. If you will excuse me now, I have other things to attend to..." She gave a little nod before turning around to stalk off. Relena didn't sit down till the doors had closed behind her.   
  
Then sat back down.   
  
"Only three more months before I become Lena Burg..." She thought to herself.  
  
  
Heero paused. He scrolled down the page, concentrating on the information in front of him. Leaning forward, he narrowed his eyes. Behind him, Duo finished off his coffee.   
  
"Hey, Heero, it's 8 AM. Don't you want to get off and eat something?" Heero twisted in his seat to face Duo, who titled his head to the side. "Well?"  
  
"Duo, do you know any recent news about Relena Peacecraft?" Duo raised his eyebrows.   
  
"No, I haven't seen her in a while..."   
  
"Look at this." Duo came forward and leaned on the table, reading off the computer screen.  
  
"He-e-ey, no kidding...where'd you find this?"  
  
"In the Preventers' files." Duo immediately slapped Heero on the back of the head crossly, causing him to pitch forward, nearly having his forehead meet the screen.  
  
"You promised not to do that again!" Heero stood up and took his jacket off the back of his chair.  
  
"I'd like to know why she's doing this, wouldn't you?" Duo stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to halt.  
  
"I'll go. You stay and find out some more stuff about those guys in Nigeria, okay?" He stopped short at Heero's glance. "Hey, you don't have the tact to ask Relena-"  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"   
  
"It means-" They were interrupted by a loud ring. The phone. Duo grabbed it, keeping an eye on Heero.   
  
"Hello? Oh, hey Lady Une. How's it going?" His face suddenly fell. "Oh, yeah. I'll tell him." He listened for a few more minutes, silent. Heero gave him a sidelong glance, wondering what could've brought on this change of character. Duo finally hung up.   
  
"Heero, Lady Une is calling us to the Preventers Headquarters, she wants to talk to us about becoming temporary members."  
  
"Temporary members?" Heero voiced, "So she knows..."   
  
"Yeah." Heero shrugged.   
  
"Relena will have to wait then." Duo nodded.  
  
  
Duo and Heero's conversations are surprisingly fun to write (they clash too easily)....  
  
Please review, thanks! 


	2. Ch.2 Pager

  
Disclaimer: GW, mine? Pish-posh, nothing here belongs to me except for the general idea, the students, and the teachers.   
  
(If I over exaggerate school lunches, please bear with me.)  
  
  
  
She blinked and made sure her backpack was with her. In front of her was Linden High, sprawled out on concrete sidewalks, bordered by the surrounding city and the street.   
  
Relena climbed the steps slowly with the honks of traffic and vendors behind her. She pushed the large doors bordered in blue, made of thick glass, open. The noise coming from inside stunned her.   
  
She had been in National Press Conferences all over the world, but this was incomparable. Students and teachers milling around the hallways and in doorways; standing by lockers and the entrance to the gym, all shouting, talking, whispering, laughing, whining. No one took notice of her as Relena walked by toward the office. She found herself in a large room when she had first entered; it opened up in halls to the different sections of the school. To the right were the Principal's office and the secretaries.   
  
Now, she waited in the office by the one of the secretaries' desks for her Student ID and the library card. Inside, the sound of the students was muted. The constant typing, clicking and ringing of the office, along with some people muttering to each other, were the only things that felt real to her.   
  
"Miss Burg?" Someone stood beside her and she realized they were referring to her.  
  
"Yes?" She stood up. A tall, slim man with bony hands handed her a small, blue folder.   
  
"In here are the things you will need. We are glad to have you at this school. I trust you know where your first class is?" He sounded cordial, inviting. Relena smiled politely.  
  
"Yes, I think I do. Thank you."   
  
"Your welcome." Then he turned around and left.   
  
Relena tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She trailed out of the office and into one of the halls, packed with people. It was the hall that lead to the senior's section,   
according to the handbook she had received earlier that week. The classroom where she would begin was Room 149.   
  
She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, feeling out of place though she looked much like any other person there. Relena still found the newness of her clothing irritating, and tugged at her jean shorts. Beside her was a water fountain. She bent down for a quick drink.   
  
"Are you okay?" Relena looked up, surprised. Then she looked left and right. Finally, she glanced over her shoulder.  
  
"I said, are you okay?" It was a girl who looked about her age, maybe a little younger, who came to Relena's shoulder. Jet-black hair, thick and straight, was cut at the base of her neck. Large, dark eyes hid behind huge, round glasses in a heart-shaped face met Relena's. Relena found it a small marvel that the girl had skin as snowy pale as could be. The girl pushed her glasses up with her finger.   
  
"I'm fine, thank you." The girl nodded.  
  
"You new here?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"When did you move here?"  
  
"A week ago." The girl nodded again.   
  
"My name's Lark Gable; you?"  
  
"I'm Re-...Lena Burg." Relena tripped over the words hastily, but smiled to cover up. Lark noticed her mistake with a raised eyebrow.   
  
"Need help finding your classroom?" Someone pushed by Relena.  
  
"I don't think so."   
  
"You sure? It can be a maze sometimes." Relena stepped aside for others to use the water fountain.  
  
"I guess. Do you know where Room 149 is?" Lark grimaced.  
  
"An immigrant has to have that old dinosaur as a first-hour teacher? What's wrong with the administration these days?"   
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"You've got the same first-hour teacher as me. Her name's Mrs. Dubose; she's the toxic waste of this school." Relena must've looked puzzled since Lark just sighed and asked her to follow.   
  
"Oh, do you need to put your stuff in a locker?"   
  
"I think so." Lark turned to face her with an expression of mild weariness.  
  
"Don't you know about lockers? Haven't you ever been in a public school before?" Relena cracked out a friendly smile.  
  
"Till now, I've only been in a private school."  
  
"Figures." Lark pushed her glasses up her nose again. "Well, welcome to reality."   
  
  
That whole day, Relena felt as if she were just watching another person, perhaps a clone of herself, wandering through the extensive network of halls in Linden High. She looked so much like the rest of the students, with the casual clothing and a backpack slung over her shoulder. When someone approached her, she immediately tensed then almost melted in relief when it turned out all they wanted was to borrow a pencil.   
  
Through the confusion of info that rained down her, she felt lucky finding her next class. For some reason, she seemed to have ended with all the odd teachers; Mister Deas, toothless and wrinkled, who spit whenever he talked, to Miss Maude, who presumed the students didn't know how to tie their own shoes, to Misses Dubose, who, at the sight of the new batch of students, 28 in all, had slipped a small flask of tequila from under the edge of her skirt and sat drinking till the class had stared in complete silence.   
  
At lunch, everyone had filed into the cafeteria and lined up. Relena quickly learned that macaroni and cheese was not one of the lunch ladies' specialties and settled for a cupcake given to her by Lark, who saved her a seat. While fooling with the sugary wrapping left from her lunch, Relena listened silently, but attentively, to Lark's highly opinionated ideas, watching the waxy substance of cheese harden on the noodles in the Styrofoam plate and a yellow liquid seep out from under the shell. At the sight of her lunch taking on the appearance of rancid road kill she pushed her tray to the side.  
  
Lark pointed out a group of girls seated at a table at the end of the cafeteria. She explained that they were the cheerleaders ("Blonde, mean as snakes, and all flunking."), to which Relena reminded her not to follow the stereotypical remarks. Lark shrugged, replying nonchalantly that it was true, and that'd she'd find out soon enough. She pointed out some more cliques, each individual in some way. Relena noted with some amusement that, regardless of the way Lark belittled and sarcastically summarized each person, she blindly counted herself as part of the student body. The wrapping from the cupcake shredded into flaky strips, Relena really listened to what Lark had to say. As unflattering and sharp as her opinions were, she was extremely comical.   
  
When the conversation turned to herself Relena did her best to veer Lark's interest to something else. Eventually, they were talking about possible occupations; Lark wanted to join the marines. Granted, though her personality wasn't one to get along with easily, she had a profound intellect.  
  
Something that never ceased to astonish her was the vague interest in politics the students had; since her alibi was that her home was the Cinq Kingdom, at the moment the most political country besides Britain at the time, she had expected someone to come forward with a question or two. Yet, no one asked her anything, enabling her to get through without too much lying on her part.  
  
  
The next day was pretty much the same as the first one. So was the whole week.  
  
The next week, Relena found out the meaning of 'homework'. Though it didn't challenge the amount she usually managed back at her office in the Cinq Kingdom in the least, it did call on surprisingly much effort. Every day she wound up with a large load.  
  
After school, Relena either walked or took a bus back to her apartment, depending on the weather. Since her new home was only two blocks away from the school itself, she didn't have much to worry about.   
  
She came to feel quite content in her small apartment. At first glance it would appear to be a very narrow, two story high building. When one entered, they were in the living room; ahead was the kitchen, in the back of the housing. A steep staircase to the left led to the bathroom, situated above the kitchen, and the bedroom down the hall, directly over the living room, with windows giving a view of the street and of Montreal.   
  
In the afternoons she did her homework and worked on some business Lady Une or one of her ministers had sent her via mail. When that was finished, she contacted her office so they could fax over other things for her to do and look over. The work never ended.  
Every Friday at eight PM, she took a taxi to a private airport, boarded a jet and took off across the ocean, where she landed in the Cinq Kingdom four hours later. With three hours of sleep behind her, Relena got to work on various things left to her during the week. But the Nigeria Case, as it was often called, took up most of her time.   
  
She had many long meetings with the President or his assistants where they discussed possible solutions and the consequences to each. The terrorists had become bolder; they threatened to plant bombs in heavily inhabited areas, and seemed to be growing in numbers (though her minister's argued since, that being the most cliché list of choices possible, they might surprise them). Anonymous death threats were sent to different officials in the Nigerian government. President Cole Mahini, as was his name, had become harried and stressed. He had not caught a single terrorist; they had managed to escape the police in each city.   
  
In this way, the first five or six weeks of school passed for her. If the days weren't spent worrying about the next step to take with Nigeria, or getting her work done on time, Relena had to find ways to avoid being found out. More than once people had wondered about her; Lark had become a little suspicious even. Just a little.  
  
Relena felt the oppression of her existence more than she had when she was in the Cinq Kingdom, and she hoped she wouldn't turn out a failure in the end.   
  
  
Deep in thought one day, Relena was hurrying to Mrs. Dubose's class when she crashed into someone. She bounced back a few steps and her book bag slipped to the ground. Relena picked it up and shouldered it once more.   
  
"I'm sorry for running into you." She apologized politely.   
  
"That's okay." Someone said. Relena glanced up and met a large grin. "I'm Denna Angela; you?"  
  
"Lena Burg." Relena had become accustomed to calling herself that and being called that, though she still didn't always react to it. The name was unfamiliar and meaningless to her; like an item she couldn't wait to get rid of.   
  
The person she had bumped into was very tall and slender, with short, spiked hair dyed bright red. She had camouflage pants and a tight, black shirt on, a large mouth, and lively dark eyes in a slim, oval face. Relena smiled at her.  
  
"I don't think I've ever seen you here..." She began.  
  
"Really? That's because we don't have any classes together, and anyway, you seem pretty preoccupied most of the time." Denna grinned at her. "I've seen you around, though; you're the new senior, right?"   
  
Relena nodded. Denna was at least a head and a half taller than herself; she had to strain her neck to meet the girl's eyes.   
  
Then it hit her.  
  
"Angela?" She exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up, "You're last name is Angela??" Denna groaned.  
  
"You're one of the few who know about my family; wonderful."   
  
"I didn't know the Angelas went to Linden High." Denna's grin had vanished; her face was uncharacteristically grim.  
  
"They don't. They go to the private schools in Vienna. I didn't want to; you might call me the rebel in the family." She sighed, and placed her fists on her hips, "That's me; a rebel. A rebel without a cause." She gave Relena a quirky side-glance. "How'd you know?"   
  
" I...read about you in the newspaper." The quirky glance lessened. Relena bit her lip and gave her a meek grin; how could she explain she was a friend of the family? The Angelas were a powerful alliance to have, one that was on her side.   
  
"Oh."   
  
Just then, someone incredibly short walked down the hallway toward Relena.   
  
"Good morning, Lena!" She called. It was Lark, in an ankle-length blue skirt and sleeveless shirt. She stopped when she saw Denna.  
  
"Good grief, what are you doing here?" She asked bluntly. Denna grinned down at her; Relena had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at seeing the two so close by each other. Denna must've been at least six foot, and compared to Lark's meager four feet eleven inches, it was a comical sight to see.   
  
"Hey, Charlie Brown, I haven't seen you since last year." Lark snorted.  
  
"It couldn't stay that way, could it?"   
  
"Guess not. Hey, have you met Lena Burg?"  
  
"Of course I have." Relena quickly intervened.  
  
"Is something wrong or do you just like to argue pointlessly?" Lark and Denna gazed at her with wisdom.  
  
"She likes to argue." Denna explained, patting the girl's head with a hand.  
  
"She likes to be on the defensive." Lark replied, slapping the hand away from her.   
  
Next, the bell rang, signaling all three to be late.  
  
  
  
Duo trotted through the door, a bag of freshly baked bagels in hand. Heero had just come out of the shower; his hair was dripping onto his tank top and down his back.  
  
"I got breakfast." Heero shook his head so little droplets flew in wild arcs around the room.  
  
"Good." He grabbed the chair in front of the computer and sat down. Duo frowned.  
  
"Aren't you hungry?" Heero placed his fingers on the keyboard, sight trained on the screen.  
  
"No." Duo shut the door behind him before leaving the bagels on the counter in the kitchen.  
  
"How is it you stay awake all night and day without anything to eat?" He grumbled disgustedly. "That's impossible." Heero twisted around in his seat to stare at Duo.   
  
"Listen; I think I've got a lead on Nigeria's terrorists. Call Lady Une and tell her I'll send the information to her." But Duo leaned against the table, intently staring at Heero.  
  
"You know, we'll have to go back to the Cinq Kingdom and become temporary Preventers. When do you intend to go?" Heero shrugged, turning back to face the computer screen.  
  
"Soon." Duo stayed in his position.  
  
"We need those Preventers passes; that way, we can get into Nigeria easier and figure out what's really going on. The sooner, the better." Heero glowered at the screen.  
  
"You have the plane tickets, didn't you?" Duo reached into the pockets of his jacket, pulling out long, rectangular booklets.  
  
"You bet."   
  
"When are we leaving?"  
  
"Tomorrow. Don't worry; you'll be back before the month is over."   
  
  
Relena sat at the small table in her kitchen with a cup of orange juice. Her kitchen was tiny, though not as small as the bathroom (it was the size of her walk-in closet back in the Cinq Kingdom), but maybe twice as big. In it the movers had squished the washing machine, dryer and dishwasher alongside the stove, fridge and cabinets. A tight squeeze, but she didn't spend all her time in the kitchen. The phone rang; since it was cordless, Relena had left it on the windowsill next to the table. She picked it up.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Hey, it's Lark."   
  
"Good morning, Lark, how are you?" She heard a sigh at the other end of the line.  
  
"When will you understand; it's not 'how are you' it's 'how's it going'?" Relena cracked a sleepy smile.  
  
"I just got up, Lark, I must've forgotten."   
  
"I'll forgive you. Isn't this wonderful? No school, just freedom." Relena could imagine Lark's pale face glowing happily, her glasses making her eyes seem even larger than they really were.  
  
"I guess."   
  
"You okay? You sound exhausted."   
  
"I've spent most of the night wondering if the President of Nigeria would be able to get out of the country safely for our next meeting, Lark." Relena thought to herself.   
  
"Yes, I am a little tired. I think I'll go back to bed soon."  
  
"Okay; you want me to get off so you can go?"   
  
"I think so. I'll call you later."  
  
"Sure; bye."   
  
"Good bye." Relena hung up. She put a hand to her forehead, pushing away some long strands of hair. Then, leaving her juice at the table, she got up and walked heavily through the living room and up the stairs to her bedroom.  
  
Her bedroom wasn't as crowded as the kitchen; it had a bed, a dresser, and a small desk with a chair and a small set of shelves. Another door that no one immediately noticed led to a tiny closet. The wooden floor creaked under her bare feet as she walked. Relena climbed back into her bed, set her alarm clock to wake her again at nine thirty that morning, and dozed off.   
  
She gazed at the window above her bed, and at the gray sky just turning a faint blue.  
  
"What am I to do?" She asked herself. "It hasn't looked this bleak in so long. Why can't peace last? The President has children...if the country goes to war, that could be disastrous. For everyone." She stared at the ceiling. "I hope Lady Une has found out more about what to do. No compromises or pleas will keep the terrorists from attacking at any time; they just want the government to fall. What do they intend to achieve? It can't be peace...maybe a warped kind of peace..." Relena suddenly sneezed loudly and she reached for a tissue. "Whatever they're trying to do, I can't give up." Her thoughts turned muddled, and she drifted into a fitful sleep.   
  
A loud beeping woke her up. Nine thirty. Relena groaned, pulling the covers away and freeing her legs from the tangle. She let them fall over the side, momentarily wondering what next to do.   
  
A bath seemed to be just the thing at the moment. Staggering up, she crossed the hall in a beeline to the bathroom. While the tub began to fill, she splashed her face with cold water to wake up a little more. Next, she set out soap, shampoo and towels.   
  
The tub had not yet finished filling up, so she slumped against the wall and sat down on the cold tiled floor, pulling her legs to her chest and linking her arms around them. Lastly, she rested her chin on her knees, letting her eyes dart around the room.   
  
The bathroom was of such ludicrous proportions; she often wondered how the builders had squashed a bathtub into it without forgetting the rest. But she was thankful to those clever architects, whoever they had been.  
  
Tilting her head to the side, she found the water to be just right. She turned the faucet off, stripped out of her nightgown and stepped into the tub, gingerly testing the water first. When she found it to be perfect, Relena sank right in, ducking her head under quickly, submerging her whole body for a few seconds of liquid quiet. She blew some bubbles and felt them tickle her forehead as they swam to the surface.   
  
With a satisfying hour of soaking behind her, she climbed out and dried herself hastily with a towel. Wrapping her hair in a second, she got into a bathrobe.   
  
With not much else to do, she went back to her room and made her bed, carefully folding the covers, tucking them under the pillows. She sneezed again, and grabbed a tissue. Next, she got dressed in a shirt and slacks. They had finally ridden themselves of the starchy newness from the first week of wear, and Denna had quit remarking about how everything Relena seemed to own was brand new.   
  
Suddenly, a melancholy howl outside the window made Relena jump around, eyes wide. She crept to the window above her bed and took a glimpse outside; it was wind. Hardly anyone was on the sidewalks; the people who were now where getting into taxis or staggering against the high-pitched scream of the gales, coats and jackets flapping like banners against their bodies, hats flying off never to be seen again. Pigeons whirled through the air, and Relena saw one smack into a window. At that moment, she decided to leave for the kitchen.   
  
Slipping into a sweater she went downstairs, intent on brewing tea.   
  
She set the teapot on the stove coils so the water could boil and sat down to wait it off. A few minutes later she poured the scalding water into a mug, dipped a teabag into it and swished it around, watching the water go from translucent to steady brown.   
  
Why did she feel light-headed? Another sneeze came on and she snuffled.   
  
A loud ringing caught her. Getting on her feet again, she padded over to the phone. But it wasn't ringing; it was the doorbell. Sighing, she reached the front door.   
  
Carefully opening it, lest the wind blow it right off its' hinges, she saw two bundled up figures on the doorstep. Quickly standing aside, she let them in.   
  
One was dressed in a shaggy, purple fake-fur coat that reached her knees; the collar was propped up till it reached her nose. Dalmatian-print earmuffs settled over pink, spiked hair.   
  
The second was in a puffy coat, huge mittens, a wooly hat, large glasses and snow boots. When she looked up, Relena found it be Lark, only her nose and cheeks were a pinched, pink color while her eyes watered.  
  
Denna, on the other hand, showed her face with a big grin and chattering teeth. She stuffed the earmuffs into a large pocket and rubbed her freezing cold hands together for warmth.   
  
"Woo! Talk about wind! It's wonderful out there, though..."   
  
"You're crazy." Lark murmured, her blue lips numb. Denna patted her on the back hard and Lark tipped forward.   
  
"You're only cold, my dear, but you're mood will hopefully lighten-up as you get warmer." She turned her attention to Relena. "So, how's it going? -Have you been outside yet?"   
  
Relena hurriedly took their coats.  
  
"I'm fine, but no, I haven't been outside yet. Come into the kitchen, I'm making tea."   
  
"Ah, the regular little housewife. To heck with tea, we need hot chocolate." Relena led them through the dining room, dropping the coats on the couch. Denna immediately started searching for the ingredients to make hot chocolate while Lark stamped her feet to get feeling back into them.  
  
"It's actually 36 degrees out there, but the wind gales make it drop ghastly low." Lark murmured. Relena nodded, a grin beginning on her face.  
  
"What brings you here?" She asked them.   
  
"She hauled me away from the TV to go to a movie. Tell me, isn't that irony??" Lark sounded miffed to a high degree.   
  
Denna turned around, a gallon of skim milk in one hand.  
  
"Relena, why do you only have skimmed? -The stuff tastes like water."   
  
"Because I don't like two percent. What's Lark talking about?" Denna set around to her search again.  
  
"Oh, a really good movie I've been waiting to see for a while. 'Thought you guys would like to come along. No one's going to be there, so we'll have the best seats and everything - Hey, you've got a bar of chocolate!" She held up her newly found prize. "Can I use it?"   
  
"Go right ahead. What movie?" Relena prodded.  
  
"I forget, but it's just a few blocks away. We can walk." Lark's eyes widened and her glasses slipped.  
  
"O-o-oh no, we are NOT walking out in that weather again! -Let's just get on a bus or something, okay?" Denna poured out the milk in the teapot and filled it with milk, instead, setting that on the stove to heat.  
  
"Oh, come on, you wimp. What's a little wind?"  
  
"A little wind?? A little wind?? Those are gusts out there that'll blow our faces off!!" Lark snapped tartly, pushing her glasses up hastily. Denna rolled her eyes, her back to them.   
  
"I agree with Lark, Denna. What if we get sick? I think I've already caught a cold, and Lark seems pretty much against it…" Denna shrugged. She peeked in the cupboards beside the fridge, and after some time looking, found a grinder.   
  
"Perfect." She said to herself. Then to the others, "Fine, fine, fine. We'll take a tram or something. Charlie Brown over there might've been blown to New York, anyway. But we have to leave in an hour at the most, okay?" The disturbingly loud noise of something hard being ground to dust filled their ears. Several minutes passed by while Lark and Relena sat at the table, watching, till Denna stopped the machine.   
  
"Let's wait for fifteen minutes; my special hot chocolate will be served then." She called to everyone.   
  
Lark glanced around the kitchen. This was the first time she had been to Relena's 'new' home; she grasped the newspaper beside her and read the front page.   
  
"Mmmh..." She hummed thoughtfully. "Hey, Lena, what do you think of the Vice Foreign Minister's speech in March?" Relena looked up quickly, anxiousness passing over her face. She swiftly stood up to get some cups from the shelves, just to preoccupy her person in case something in her face tipped Lark off.   
  
"Well-" She began, only to get cut-off by Denna.  
  
"She's done better before, I think." Lark scrutinized Denna as she poured milk and ground chocolate into a pot.  
  
"Thanks for your opinion, but I asked Lena, so...Lena, what do you think?" Relena wondered how she'd answer; how does one grade something they made themselves?   
  
"Well, being that she was given only a half hour to make a point, I think she did pretty well." Thinking for more to add, she got out some spoons. "But I do think she could've done better. Her introduction was a little weak-"  
  
"You sound like my middle school English teacher, Lena." Denna muttered. "Anyway, Relena Peacecraft isn't the only thing that occupies everyone's mind, thank God. Politics, blech." She added some quick stirs to the contents of the pot and a breeze of chocolate blew around them. "Well, this'll be ready in five minutes..."  
  
Relena watched her two new friends, glad that she had some company. Lark swung her legs, the fabric of her baggy pants making swishing sounds. As usual, her glasses were nearly on the tip of her nose. With each turn of her head, her black mane blew into her face and around her ears, settling onto the shoulders of her black turtleneck. The dark clothing gave her skin a highlighting effect, making it seem paler than ever.   
  
Denna, of course, chose a completely different course of clothing; neon green and electric blue, confusing the eye with the wild put-together of shirt, vest and blotchy-dyed belt. Her hair was a little longer, but still the color of flamingos.  
  
Carefully keeping the pot balanced, Denna brought her concoction to the table. She poured hot chocolate into all three mugs, not making a single drip, before setting it down. In silence they drank, staring out the kitchen window. The minutes ticked by; Denna was the first to finish. She wordlessly brought her cup to the sink, washed it out.  
  
Maybe fifteen minutes later they were ready to leave. Relena tied her hair back, pulled on her jacket and a shawl, and set the hood over her head. Making sure the key was in the deepest of her pants' pockets, she waited for Lark to put on the array of mittens, shawls and hats she had brought along. Denna shrugged on her furry cloak.  
  
They stepped outside, immediately greeted by the pressing force of the winds, nearly blowing Lark over. With difficulty, Relena propped herself against the door so it would keep close long enough for her to lock it.  
  
In slow steps all three made their way to the bus stop. Denna held her face up, obviously enjoying the piercing, dry cold of the wind on her face and bare neck. Lark kept her head down, hair blowing around her head like a black tornado, her skin once again regaining that strange, pinched pink effect. She squared her shoulders, sunk her hands into the pockets of her fluffy coat, and struggled with each foot she put forth.  
  
Relena didn't know what to think of the weather. The wind beat against her stomach, ribs, and arms fiercely, the clothing she wore feeling like rough canvas crashing against her torso. Her hair either blew back, yanking her head around, or slapped her in the face, eyes and mouth, depending on which way the wind decided to go. Her pants flapped and rubbed abrasively against her legs, and she was sure she'd have bruises the next day.   
  
The bus stop sheltered them from the brunt of the blow, though Lark still huddled miserably on the bench. Denna checked on which bus they would take, and Relena joined Lark.   
  
"It'll be here really soon!" Denna called back at them. After making sure she wasn't looking at the wrong route, she sat next to her two friends.   
  
The bus stop was a tiny booth made of thick, plastic walls. It's ceiling was a blue metal, scratched and scribbled on with numerous writing and spray-painted phrases. In the back, set up along the walls, were old wooden benches, also scruffy looking and old.  
  
Their wait took a few minutes that seemed longer than they really were. Denna was refitting her Dalmatian earmuffs over her head when the bus came to a halt. Hurrying in, they found it to be nearly deserted, so seats were easy to find.   
  
Just a little later, all three were at the movie theater, a tiny place squeezed between a café and an apartment building. After paying for their tickets, Denna insisted on getting a drink for the movie.  
  
"Hey, we still don't know what we're seeing!" Lark cried. Denna stuffed her earmuffs into one pocket, making sure not to risk upsetting her drink in the other hand.   
  
"Look at the ticket." Denna shot back.   
  
" 'Stand and Stomp'. What kind of a movie is called 'Stand and Stomp'??" Lark muttered crossly.  
  
"Lighten up. You ask too many questions, Charlie Brown."  
  
"Must you call me that?"   
  
"Hey, the movie is starting. Stop fighting; we need to get some places." Relena told them in a dry tone. The two glanced at her guiltily, then at each other for good measure.   
  
But that's all that it took to get them into the theater.  
  
  
Relena settled into her seat just as the room darkened and the screen lit up with a commercial. For Coke.   
  
Behind her sat Lark, who declared the best seats to be the ones in the way back, at the top of the theater. Denna argued that the best were the ones ranging from the middle to the ones in front, so they parted. Relena sat in between, shaking her head at the stubborn streak in both.  
  
The commercials waned and previews followed. Relena found her seat to be a little too comfortable; in the middle of a preview she had been dozing off. Only when someone screamed was she driven from her reverie; immediately, instinct took over. She sat up and glanced around, fingers digging into the cushioned armrests.   
  
But it turned out only to be the last preview for a movie called "Scream For The Last Time." Finally, something in the back of the room buzzed and the 'feature presentation' started.   
  
  
Labor-roughened hands covered in flour kneaded a large lump of dough. The screen zoomed out and the hands were found to belong to a gentle, motherly-type with hazel eyes and hair loosely tied in a bun at the back of her neck. Beside her, chin just reaching the table surface, was a small girl, maybe five or six years old, with that round face, so serious and innocent, customary of children with more knowledge than anticipated.   
  
Relena hadn't known about Denna's soft side, hadn't known that she even possessed one. But this portrayed it in detail; though preachy and old, the movie was sweet and worth the blackout the small audience suffered halfway through. It was about a very friendship oriented family way back when, in the 1930's, to whom tradition meant much. They lived in Italy, and worked a successful vineyard. But though tradition and family was held above all else, the many daughters wanted a different sort of life than what they had been taught.   
  
Some parts were close to tear-jerking. Relena was sure she heard some snuffling noises in the front rows.  
  
  
The movie lasted two hours. When Relena, Lark and Denna got out into the lobby again, each had a different view on it. Denna set on the heavy coat again, which she had taken off during the show. The wind had not lessened in the least; it might've even gained velocity.   
  
But Relena heard the constant beeping of something deep in her pockets. She was bringing up the rear of the troupe as they headed out so the others didn't see her visibly pale as she fumbled around for the noisemaker.   
  
"Oh, please, no, don't let this happen..." She thought to herself, and sneezed. It was a tiny pager, and a small red light flashed repeatedly as the noise grew in alarm and noise. She clicked the pager off and tucked it back into her coat, suddenly very grave.  
  
Since nothing could be heard but wind and clothing being battered against their bodies outside, she wasn't obliged to say something to keep the others in the dark about her worry. All she did was duck her head and follow where they went to the bus stop.   
  
Still not saying anything, they waited for the oncoming bus.  
  
"What time is it?" Lark called. She glanced at Relena, who hurriedly pushed back the sleeves of her coat to get to her watch. Her hands shook, and Lark noticed this.  
  
"Is something wrong?" She asked eyes narrowed behind her glasses. Relena looked up, managed a weak smile.  
  
"No. I just need to get home." Denna craned her neck to look for the bus.  
  
"Hey, here she comes!" She grinned. Relena hastily stepped, paid the driver and sat close to one of the exits. Lark watched her closely, suspiciously.   
  
"Lena, you look like you've just seen a ghost." She told her bluntly. Relena slid to the side to let Lark take a seat next to her.   
  
"I guess it's the wind." She said. Lark smiled a little as if to help.  
  
"Are you sure?" Relena nodded calmly.  
  
"Yes, I am." But when Lark still glanced at her suspiciously, she added, "I'm fine, don't worry."   
  
Hoping that she wouldn't have to say more, Relena turned around to stare out the window at the cars passing by.   
  
"Lady Une, I'll be there in just a few hours, hold out till then..."   
  
  
Having just recently bidden good-bye to Denna and Lark, Relena raced into her apartment. The door closed behind her; she quickly leaned against it, eyes wide. Something important, most likely devastating, had happened and she only had a brief amount of time before the media would seize hold of it. Ripping her coat off, she left it in a heap on the rug and leaped up the stairs.   
  
Once in her bedroom, she shut the blinds and got out the uniform signifying her as the Vice Foreign Minister of the Cinq Kingdom. Throwing that on the bed, mindful of creases, she reached for a phone on top of her dresser. Already, it was beeping.   
  
"Lena Burg speaking."   
  
"Relena, don't bother packing up, just get dressed in a coat and get to the airport immediately. The jet is already running; you've got fifteen minutes." This made Relena's blood freeze.  
  
"Did he get out?" Of course she meant the President and, possibly, some of his employees.   
  
"We've received news of his boarding a plane to the Cinq Kingdom just an hour ago." Relena breathed a short sigh of relief.  
  
"Thank you, Lady Une."   
  
  
  
Truthfully, I don't know much about the Canadian school system, something I didn't pursue to find out more about. If anyone has any comments or suggestions on how to make this better, please email me. Thanks!  
  
  
Please review!!  



	3. Ch.3 Colds and boredom

Disclaimer: GW isn't mine, mine, mine.   
  
Thanks, Vixen, this is in thought of you!!   
  
  
  
  
Somehow, in the flurry of activities that followed, Relena managed to hook a taxi to the airport. Hidden in her coat, no one could see the impressive, formal wear she had on, complete with shoulder tassels and an embroidered sash across her torso. Jogging at a fast pace, she reached the jet in time.   
  
She sat down in her seat with a pad and a pencil jabbing her hip in their pocket just as the seatbelt sign flashed on. The engines roared, drowning out the wind for a minute. Finding her seat unusually stiff, Relena got out the items she had brought along. Surely she'd have to make a speech; preparing one would be a good idea.   
  
The flight, despite the dangerous wind and possible storms ahead, was quick. Relena had managed to fill the small pad of lined paper, which equaled about an hours worth of talking. All this through the bumpy, jarring ride, the anxiety of not knowing what had happened, her mind flashing with images of possible bad news. Not even seventeen, and she worried so much. For the first time in her life she felt bitter toward people in general; no one should be able to cast this much weight on any person, whether they were her age or at their peak of mental and physical excellence.   
  
The plane dipped to the left as if pivoting on a wing and Relena put away her speech. It wouldn't do to have it lost. Instead, she gently tried laying her head against the back of her chair to catch some rest, but the adrenalin wouldn't stop flowing. She couldn't even doze off. The last twenty minutes of the flight was turbulent; they skidded a few feet on the runway, bounced three times.   
  
Only when she got off the last step did she realize that the weather was tolerable, for November, at least. Feeling for the speech in her pocket, she walked to the building ahead; someone in the distance was waving to her. She shaded her eyes with her hand, but still couldn't make out the features of them.   
  
Now that person had retreated to the Hall, letting Relena only guess at who it was.   
  
  
  
Duo let out a whoop of joy, shaking one fist in the air. Heero slid back into his seat next to the window, while eyeing his partner suspiciously.   
  
Duo freely laughed at his expression.   
  
"I found out something about those guys down in Nigeria!" He handed the laptop to Heero, who promptly began to read the information showing up on the screen, "I got into a file and BAM, there it was!" He crossed his arms and grinned smugly. "Even you didn't get to them that fast, oh Master Hacker."   
  
Heero lifted an eyebrow while reading. "Didn't I give you the necessary data to get to this?" Duo shrugged, suddenly listless.   
  
"Who cares?" He and Heero were on a flight to the Cinq Kingdom. The plane was remarkably empty, so Duo had taken the middle seats, stretching his legs across them. Heero sat across from him in a window seat, mostly staring out the oval window to the mass of rocky land beneath, silent as usual.  
  
Duo peeked at him from his relaxed position.  
  
"Hey, what's eating you?" He muttered. Heero shut the laptop and stuck it in the shelves above his head, not intending on answering. Duo lay his head down on the armrest farthest from Heero so he could see what he was doing. "You haven't said much at all since yesterday. Something bothering you about going back to the Cinq Kingdom?"   
  
Heero didn't budge from his position at the window.  
  
"You won't tell Lady Une that we know about Relena's absence." He suddenly demanded.   
  
"Is that an order?"   
  
"More like a threat." Duo sat up on his elbows, as uncomfortable as that was.  
  
"Why do you care? Relena seems to be handling it well, considering..." Heero glared at his reflection.  
  
"Just don't." Duo lay back down in a disgruntled fashion.  
  
"No need to get all huffy about it..." He grumbled. In a sarcastic tone, he added, "I hope it's okay I alerted the others about it. We might need their help." No reply came.  
  
  
  
After having greeted the small audience in front of her and excused herself for being late, Relena sat down in one of the open chairs, folding her hands over themselves on the table surface. The worried expression of President Mahini only caused her mind to grow weary and sad, but she wouldn't show this. Maybe the way her eyebrows tilted downwards or how the corners of her mouth remained in a sorrowful smile hinted at what she truly was feeling.   
  
Cole Mahini began the meeting with a speech.  
  
"We have recently received an estimate on the number of terrorists; they have become a strong force of about 5,000 men and women and are demanding drastic reform in the government.   
  
"The truth is, Nigeria is weak right now; a great part of Africa has had its' resources depleted due to the heavy strain put on during the War. The poverty level is high, and I fear a revolt in some cities. At the moment, northern Nigeria is completing its' third week of draught.   
  
"Now, this new threat imposes a list of impossible wants; I cannot fulfill them. Even if I could, I wouldn't. They are asking for several officials to be impeached, many laws to be repealed, and the government to be militarily run. Along with that I would have to step down from my position."   
  
Though a little scrambled, the speech made it clear. President Mahini was desperate. "I am willing to turn to more pressing ways of ridding Nigeria of these threats. I am even more willing to talk this over, but its' clear that I won't be able to." His dark eyes caught up Relena's. "Is there any way for us to go about this without the use of artillery?"   
  
Silence came over the small group of people, all hoping she would have an answer. Something seemed out of place in what the President had said, almost odd. Relena glanced up to her left; Lady Une had stationed herself there and was giving Relena a questioning, mysteriously strange look. It made Relena wonder.   
  
"Could we take a 10-minute recess?" She asked. "I need to discuss something with Lady Une." Everyone seemed a surprised at the abruptness of the request, but nodded. All took their leave, if just to stand up. Lady Une followed Relena into an adjoining room.  
  
"It sounds like something is going on that we haven't run into yet." Relena said immediately after the door was firmly shut. Lady Une clasped her hands behind her in a satisfactory gesture.   
  
"You're right."   
  
"How long have you known?"  
  
"Not as long as you think, Miss Relena, only a few months."   
  
"Why haven't you told President Mahini, or me?" Relena asked further. Lady Une folded her arms.  
  
"The Preventers are on the case; we've even got a member for it. He's on his way and should be here in less than a half hour." Relena smiled, if halfheartedly.   
  
"Vague, as usual. When are you going to tell me what's really going on?" She asked quietly.  
  
"When I have to. Trust me."   
  
  
Duo trailed into the office, his hands stuffed down his jean pockets, flanked by Heero. Hunching behind a huge desk, with her head bent over some sheets of freshly printed Xerox paper and a cordless phone in her left hand, sat Lady Une. She didn't look up when they entered, even after Heero closed the door.   
  
Duo finally took to clearing his throat ever so politely. Lady Une swiftly glanced up, nodded, and greeted them.  
  
"Have you received your identification cards?" She asked. Both nodded. "Good. Please, take a seat."   
  
In one large leap Duo was lounging in one of the chairs surrounding her desk. Heero leisurely seated himself next to the American without a word.   
  
With a folder in hand, Lady Une stood up.  
  
"Duo Maxwell, here's your assignment. You will be on a plane to Nigeria-"  
  
"Nigeria?"   
  
"Read through the things in the folder and you will understand."   
  
"I thought Heero and I were both working on this."  
  
"You are, only you will go there and Heero will stay so he can take advantage of the Preventer's equipment and use the computers. He will aid you from a distance." Duo raised an eyebrow at this questioningly.  
  
"What am I going as...?" Lady Une leaned against the edge of her desk, an expression of veiled smugness settling on her face.  
  
"Before the situation got out of hand, you were going to go as a tourist."  
  
"Hey!"   
  
"Now, though, you're just a passerby who had to land in one of the airports in order to continue your trip."   
  
"A tourist..."   
  
"I trust you know what to do next?" Duo nodded in a reluctant way before standing up as well.   
  
"A tourist. Well, I'll be leaving now. Heero..." His partner stared up at him coldly. "Don't mess up."   
  
Heero lightly smirked, pulling up the corner of his mouth a fraction of a centimeter. With a final farewell to Lady Une, he departed from the scene, already flipping through the folder.   
  
She now turned to Heero.  
  
"Heero Yuy, follow me."   
  
  
  
Relena coughed roughly, grabbing the back of a chair to steady herself. Someone behind her put their hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Aren't you feeling well?" It was Cole Mahini, his forehead wrinkled anxiously not only at the display of illness Relena was showing, but at the thought of returning to his country and not bringing with him help of any sort. She laid her hand over his.  
  
"I'm fine, thank you." She lied; she felt somewhat different. Her throat was lathered up with something and she kept coughing. But she had to see her company out the door. The President, along with his employees, where staying at a hotel until they were sure there was a safe plane to Nigeria. The airline they had formerly used the most had shut down due to odd, unfortunate financial circumstances.   
  
Shaking each hand in turn, Relena found herself alone again. Even Lady Une had taken leave some time ago, maybe two hours before the meeting had officially ended. It was probably to take care of the Nigeria case. She felt she was hearing too much of it. Even in Canada that was what dominated the news, the papers and the political chitchat students shot at each other. Even though she would have given nearly anything to help, for once, Relena had heard enough.   
  
Easing herself into a more relaxed walk, she went up the stairs to her bedroom, which she hadn't visited in four days. While wondering how long she might have to stay out of school, since this was a chunk of chaos someone had so graciously dropped into her lap, she unbuttoned the stiff formal wear from that afternoon. Not that she minded it as much as some thought, but high collars are tolerable for only so long.   
  
She found herself staring at the carpet, how unusual. True, the carpet was nothing interesting. Bland, soft, thick, deep enough to have the soles of someone's feet sink right in, light blue in color. But that's all it was; a rug that covered every inch of the floor from wall to wall. One couldn't even imagine something creative with that impossibly normal blue: Relena began to draw designs with her toes, still in their stockings. Circles weaving in and out...that's enough. She finished undressing.   
  
  
  
"What a day, what a day..." Setting his cap on his head, Duo scanned the sparsely crowded platform for the luggage pick-up department signs. He sighed. The plane flight had been awful; after having been thoroughly checked and quizzed by security before boarding the plane, then wedged between a beefy man and an obese lady, then having virtually nothing to eat for nearly six hours besides extremely salty peanuts, next - not being able to find his luggage, something that highly displeased him, considering their contents.   
  
He walked along, his tennis shoes slapping the pavement noisily compared to the people around him. All he received were strange looks from everyone; obviously a foreigner, he wasn't worth the trouble to bother with. They turned back to what they had been doing before he came along.  
  
Coming to a halt beside a brightly lit hallway, Duo wondered where it led. All the signs were in a language he had no knowledge of, so he decided to just go along with it and get lost. He had nothing better to do; Lady Une had given him a very distant deadline to work with.   
  
"Ah, why not." Trotting down the hall, he went over the address he was supposed to go to so he could hook up the laptop and other, various equipment he had dragged along. With that thought in mind, his pace quickened from a trot to a run; he didn't even bother thinking of how suspicious that might look to the natives.   
  
Finally, he reached a couple of routes to take; either another hall or a doorway with a curious sign over it. Having not a clue as to what it said, he entered through the door into a large room.  
  
Duo found himself in the luggage terminal, but not the place where one picked it up; rather the place where it was sent off to be picked up. He quickly hid behind a guitar case so he wouldn't get into trouble. Gazing around the hazy-aired room, he found his luggage set in the farthest corner away from him. Hoping none of the workers shoving and loading suitcases where paying attention, he began to creep forward on his hands and knees...  
  
  
Flopping into his seat with a grin, he faced the small computer screen, now finally working. Duo had spent much of the afternoon slaving away at putting the various cables into the right places, at first without the manual. He soon learned the importance of those booklets with his second sparking of the wires.   
  
Now, everything was manageable. All could begin. Swiftly tapping into the resources Heero had sent him, he began his search for some people in the terrorist group. Even with his large knowledge of how these things ran, it was the start of a difficult, agonizingly frustrating search of people he had never encountered before, never heard of or seen before, and would probably be the kind that one would least suspect of such radical actions. This thought slightly depressed him; he took up an odd little chunk of bread, sweet and fattening, which he had bought earlier that day before setting all his concentration on his goal. Being a driven person by nature, along with all his other qualities, this wasn't too hard.   
  
A little icon on the corner of the screen flashed repeatedly. Duo lowered his eyes before moving his hand; it was another long list of need-know-items from Heero. While reading through he printed it out, just in case something happened to the memory on the computer. It had a few more questionable persons with extensive information on them: everything from their financial position and political standing to their dental records. Most of it was boring and Duo skimmed over the rest. Setting the sheets of paper aside, he took up his work again, intent on finding out something by the time morning struck beams through the window on his right.   
  
  
  
Relena staggered to her feet after breakfast, having eaten most of what was on her plate but without noticing it. She didn't feel full; all she knew was that her head felt heavy, like a balloon filled with wet sand. Withstanding the tempting idea of taking another hour of sleep before working, she left for her office where many things had been piled into stacks for her to review. One of those things was a bill that she was sending into to be considered turned into a law; Relena had to make it perfect so it would be accepted, and she had devoted half the day to that one document. It declared the ban of using, producing and storing all weaponry, from guns to mobilsuits. Only a few, carefully selected organizations would be able to legally keep an arsenal with them, one of these being the Preventers. This was a step in a plan she had developed with the other ministers.   
  
She was having enough to do with the first step, one she found quite difficult. The past five months alone had been busy with that one bill.   
  
In order to have this done on schedule, since she had now given herself a time limit, Minister Io accompanied her with his help. Together, they fixed all necessary points, discussing what may or may not need change.   
  
"By the way, how is Montreal to you, Miss Foreign Vice Minister?" He asked kindly. Relena tapped her pen against her shoulder, thoughtfully studying the rough draft they had pulled up in front of her.  
  
"Very good."   
  
"No problems?"  
  
"None whatsoever." Her gaze briefly wandered from the paper to him, though his head was bent over her desk as well. "Are you worried?"   
  
"A little." He answered mildly, straightening to look her in the face. Relena lay the pen down.   
  
"I am getting along, Minister Io, really. I'm doing fine; I've even met some people there who one would consider friends. And I find that I'm even enjoying my stay."   
  
"You don't think the workload is overwhelming along with your school work?" Relena shrugged with a small smile.  
  
"Maybe sometimes, but that's normal. I can't expect less."  
  
"This work isn't causing you to be sick?" Startled, Relena found that it wasn't suspicion, but worry in the minister's face opposite her.  
  
"Of course not!" She picked up her pen again. "Now, the conclusion seems a little weak, don't you think so?" Minister Io sighed.  
  
"Maybe, though I'm sure we have done as much for this as we could. We've given it our best shot; ESUN must accept it now. After all, this is what you've been saying you would do to reach complete Pacifism, right?" Relena nodded.   
  
"Thank you for your help, Minister Io."   
  
"Your welcome." He stood up, stroked the creases out of his suit, and turned to leave the room. The doors clicked shut behind him; his footsteps could be heard tapping down the hall.   
  
Relena was alone, again. She tucked the bill into a folder, putting that in one of the file cabinets lining one side of the wall. Now that her hands had nothing to do, she felt a foreign feeling of being able to do nothing creep into her. It was strange, since at both elbows were piles of things she needed to go through.   
  
But she procrastinated; except for a short, scheduled meeting to scan over the situation with President Mahini, there was not much else. At least, that's what she told herself, at the same time keeping her eyes locked onto the wood surface of her desk.   
  
She needed an aspirin tablet. That would help with the weight on her head. Then she could get started on the rest of the day.  
  
  
"Absolutely not."   
  
"Ma'am, excuse me for saying so, but they are threatening us with illegal weaponry."  
  
"And no matter what, I am not going to support your suggestion."   
  
"Can't you see that meetings will get us nowhere?" Anne narrowed her eyes.  
  
"Vice Minister Peacecraft would be appalled at your idea." She sneered. Nero Foster gripped his pen fiercely in one hand, the veins in his neck standing out.   
  
"The Vice Foreign Minister is not even seventeen, ma'am, and yet you look up to her?"   
  
"Very much so. She knows what she's talking about, and if she is as against attacking these people as she has shown, than so am I." Nero sat down, the pen still being crushed in his hand, heaving a forced sigh.  
  
"We cannot battle this force with words, Miss Nibolga."   
  
"In that case, I don't see your purpose on this campaign, Mister Foster." His head shot up, eyes sparkling.  
  
"You're really going to do as Miss Peacecraft orders? Haven't you seen what those terrorists have wrecked on Nigeria? They are frightening the population! The last week has been spent trying to pry some information from those people, but not a trace of anything important has been found. We're all in a crisis a state of confusion not one mind in this whole council is not laden with worries and precautions. Pacifism is a Utopian ideal, and I can't see how anyone is capable of keeping to it."   
  
"Vice Minister Peacecraft is not trying to create heaven on Earth, Mister Foster, but a peace that might make it through the years and enable everyone to assimilate. Get to the point."   
  
"I feel we have to take action, Miss Nibolga, even if it means that someone seizes guns and uses them."   
  
"The Preventers have sent out one of their most capable agents-"  
  
"One agent is not enough." Anne Nibolga shoved her chair back, glaring.   
  
"If this is truly your opinion, you might as well talk to the President. I just might lose patience with you, Mister Foster, and I do not have Pacifism as one of my highest ideals. True, I have repeated myself often on the grounds of my beliefs, that I will take action if its' a must and fight. But I believe we can pull through without use of the brutality of machinery. As it is, this won't stand with you; you're thinning my patience." Nero Foster jumped up, leaning his hands on the table surface.  
  
"Are you threatening me?" He sounded disbelieving, and Anne Nibolga smiled bitterly.  
  
"I will see you later, Mister Foster. Till then, arrange a talk with President Mahini; it might help."  
  
  
Duo yawned, sluggishly watching the crowd move by him at a steady pace. His expression was slack, lacking alertness, his eyes heavy lidded, uninterested. He had been watching the unknowing people since early that morning, traveling the grounds and even walking through some of the corridors of the City Hall to find what he had learned had to be there. But so far, no one seemed out of the ordinary.   
  
It was a little after noon already. A vendor by the street corner had been staring at him oddly for the past ten minutes, making Duo believe it was time to move on. He sauntered listlessly back into the massive building labeled City Hall, intent on using the information Heero had given him. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts, he wandered through the entrance into the interior, now semi-filled with an assortment of people. It being cooler inside than out, he thought he might as well search here.   
  
It had been nearly three weeks since he had arrived. Ever since, Duo hadn't strayed far from his room. Heero had been sending him fragments of things he thought might lead to some discovery; this last week he had barely sent anything. Not only was this worrying Duo, it made him incredibly bored. Having nothing to do but sit in a chair, watching a computer screen, researching, had made him slouch in his seat and created an unhealthy routine of catching little sleep.   
  
But out of the blue, Heero had began to catapult scraps of things to Duo, letting him find out for himself what the information meant. The last two days had been enough to give Duo the illusion that an event was going to take place in the densely populated area of the City Hall. As overly hopeful as this sounded to him, he wanted to give this a chance. The next day, he had walked out on the beginning of his search.  
  
Now, he lackadaisically leaned an elbow on a window pane, glancing out at the activity below. He had made his way to a little hallway where he was completely alone. The walls had long ago been painted a soft peach color, now faded into a faint yellow. Except for the many windows, no light reached inside.   
  
So when Duo heard footsteps, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. In much this way an old man, dressed in old kaki pants and a button up shirt with a near-toothless grin, found him. He nodded kindly before moving on to one of the doors that dotted the hall, ignoring Duo's curious stare. After the doors shut with a resounding click, Duo crept to the end of the hall, where the sunshine the windows let in didn't reach.   
  
Tucking himself into a corner, he crouched, breathing slowly and quietly, listening for more footsteps, watching for more people. It was a lasting wait in which Duo dropped to one knee, eyes still concentrated directly in front of him.   
  
A soft padding sound reached his ears. He grinned quickly, but his triumphant expression dropped when he only saw two local women coming towards him, chattering quietly with each other, colorful cloth draped over their bodies to cover them from shoulders to ankles. One had a basket under her arm, heaped with fruit. The padding sound was their sandals on the stone floor. Duo almost let himself sigh when the two women went through the same doors as the old man.   
  
Letting his body hit the ground he sat down Indian-style. One portion of his mind was calmly directing him to leave and buy food, the other was arguing about the suspicion these people had impressed on it. Three people whom one wouldn't suspect of almost any crime coming together in a secluded place, wasn't that reason enough to stay and keep watch? Duo grudgingly admitted to himself that he didn't have any other leads to go after anyway. Flipping his braid over his shoulder so it landed with a thump against his lower back, he prepared himself for a long wait.   
  
  
  
A half hour had stalked by, leaving Duo to remind himself every few minutes of his increasing hunger. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he leaned his head against the cool surface of the wall behind him, relaxing for the first time that day. His hands slid from his lap to his sides while he thought, staring at the cheap decorations of the ceiling.   
  
It couldn't be helped; his mind wandered. Unleashing his boredom into his thoughts made him think of the cafeteria at the Preventers Headquarters. While walking to Lady Une's office, Heero and he had gotten a glimpse of it. Eyes following the pattern on the ceiling, he then thought of Heero. This, in turn, brought him to Deathscythe, which caused him to shake his head free of such thoughts and again concentrate on the hallway.   
  
If someone else hadn't come down his way, Duo would have stood up and quit for the day. But he couldn't help but freeze by what he saw; it was a girl, barely fifteen years old, with dark eyes and braided hair. She glanced over her shoulder quickly before moving to the door. With one more glance around, she slipped inside.   
  
Barely five minutes later someone else came, another girl, maybe seventeen. She hastily trotted across the floor, also going through the same doors as the others.   
  
With a grin, Duo gathered his legs under himself, positioning his body for a quick run in case he needed to escape. Eyes shining with a glimmer of hope and excitement, he watched in case anyone else came along. When no one did, he flew through the hall at a fast sprint, mentally summing up the number of things he'd need for tomorrow.  
  
  
Even though this came out rather soon after the other chapters, I'm not going to be able to fling the others out as fast (it took a few months to sum this up, and I'm still working on the rest). Thanks!  
  
Please review!!!  
  



	4. Ch.4 Airports and taxis

Disclaimer: I'll eat my socks if I could own GW, but I don't, so....  
  
**This is in thought of everu person who has suffered; all hopes and prayers go with the families and friends of the victims.   
  
  
  
  
Humming quietly, Duo attached the last piece of machinery to the table; a tiny, square object that acted as a hidden microphone. He stood up from his crouched position, made sure all was in order then took off his vest. He was going to be sitting near the ceiling, were all the heat trapped in the room would float up to. Being dressed in dark clothing was bad enough; several layers would have been intolerable.  
  
After finding that the set-up was perfect, everything in it's designated place, he scooted to the wall and began to scamper up a rope to the ceiling, reminding himself not to look directly up or he would be blinded by the chandelier.  
  
The room were all those people had vanished into was nothing much, more like a vault with old wallpaper and a ceiling that shot up forty feet. The ceiling, the only thing that had been paid attention to during construction, had one gigantic chandelier illuminating the area.   
  
Strangely, though, it didn't reach the corners of the room at all, leaving them in unnoticeable shadows. Where the walls met the ceiling large circles had been carved out. Looking like huge dents two feet deep purposefully built into the walls, no one quite knew who's idea they had been.   
  
But they made the ideal spot for Duo to hide with the rest of the equipment. Having reached his small cave, he pressed himself as far back as possible, put the headphones on and turned on the laptop he had brought back. Everything that was going to be said was going to be recorded and sent to Heero. Anyone below wouldn't hear the typing or clicking coming from Duo's unpracticed keyboarding skills, so he was quite safe.   
  
Now, all he had to do was wait for the group to assemble its odd members.  
  
  
  
Relena rushed down the hall, trying not to trip on the thick rug under her feet. Her hair was flying loose like a banner behind her, not in its' usual hairstyle for an important meeting, and dodged a servant going the opposite way. She had to reach the-  
  
Finally, oak doors came into view. She entered at the same tempo she had been walking with, highly surprising the occupants. Sitting around the room, in couches or chairs, were President Mahini, Anne Nibolga, who offered a reassuring smile, and the rest of the Nigerian officers who had come for the week.   
  
"Please tell me you're are not thinking of going now." Relena demanded, forgetting the formal tendencies of the group. President Mahini stood up, and just then did Relena notice he was wearing the military clothing given to his status; a dark blue suit with shoulder tassels, white sash across his chest pinned with dozens of medals and ribbons; he even had the cap on with the flag of Nigeria stitched above the bill.   
  
"I have been gone long enough, Miss Peacecraft." His dark eyes searched hers for signs of understanding. "The threats have been temporarily pulled back. We must see our families. It's time for us to leave. We are in great debt to you for your hospitality and help when no one wanted to give Nigeria any support. Thank you."  
  
"But are the airlines safe? What about the landing stations?" Anne Nibolga stood up then and calmly walked to where Relena stood. She put a hand on the sixteen-year-olds' shoulder.  
  
"You don't know how much you've helped us already. I myself will try as hard as I can to remain open to peaceful negotiations. Miss Peacecraft, it is time that we use all we know and have gained to help our country and people. We cannot stay here for any longer.  
  
"Your graciousness is something everyone is highly grateful for, as well as your worry for our safety. But we have to leave now."   
  
Relena stood shakily there, thinking of ways to keep them here. They were not safe going on a plane to Nigeria; she couldn't let them leave.  
  
"Please, I know it's not safe, there's a great chance-"  
  
"We found an airline that's safe for our use. But in order to go, we have to leave in a half hour." Relena staggered at this, her face stricken, not caring about the obvious dismay she was showing.  
  
"A half hour?" She exclaimed. Anne Nibolga bent forward, talking in a softer tone.  
  
"The President misses his children, and I miss my family. Everyone here does. And we know that, if Nigeria doesn't see us returning soon, it might take it we have forsaken them and are not doing all we can.   
  
"Politicians are already looked down at with scorn, and if we leave our country when it needs us most, it would be justifying that.  
  
" But I personally would like to thank you for all you've given to us. It is an unusual person to be so young and in so much control of one's self and their life already. Please, don't try and fight this. The decision has been unanimously voted for." Shocked, Relena could only turn worried eyes to her.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" She asked gently.  
  
"We've all decided in the last two hours, or less." Relena gazed at Anne, then let her eyes go over the faces of the other people. They all wanted to leave and do their jobs in where they were meant to be, that was clear. But she couldn't help but feel unsure about the whole thing. The terrorists had much control now.   
  
But she could also see that whatever she threw at this determined group of people would only harden their resolve to leave and offer their help in Nigeria. Everyone she had gotten to know during the week they had stayed she had come to like in some way. Anne Nibolga for her independence and the way she knew just what she was doing; Cole Mahini for his kind, gentle personality that spoke of fatherhood.   
  
Everyone's head was turned to her, as if wondering what she was going to say. But she couldn't say anymore. Relena had spoken enough; she couldn't control anyone, and this was something that was being taken from her hands and passed to the people here. No choice could be turned to that Relena saw regarding the hard resolve of everyone present.  
  
"Alright," She said quietly. "I am not in favor of this, but I cannot change your mind." She shook hands with the President, composure solid, if not entirely confident. "Thank you for everything, and have a safe trip home to your families." At this, they gave her small smiles.  
  
"Thank you." Anne Nibolga said once more, putting a hand to Relena's shoulder. Relena raised a hand and lay it over hers, eyes expressing just how much she disliked the sudden plan.   
  
Though this wasn't what anyone would call thoroughly discussed, in her opinion anyway, or clearly planned, the hopes in these people were high. Crushing, even withholding, these hopes would be selfish. She gave a single nod to show she had some understanding.   
  
Anne's eyes took on a more playful quality.  
  
"The reporters will have to chase our plane to get a full story, Miss Peacecraft." She didn't hide her spite for the media, and Relena had to give her a tiny smile for the humor. With that, Anne walked passed, leaving Relena alone to herself.   
  
Everyone had filed out. She knew that, at this moment, everyone was rushing to get a plane ready, finding trustworthy pilots, packing. A hand went up to the base of her neck; what now? A torn feeling rocked through her. She wished she could somehow do something. The lace under her fingers felt scratchy, and her eyes took on a forlorn look.   
  
Nigeria was falling. How these troublesome groups built up so fast only proved how many disagreed with complete, unified Pacifism; she bit her lip, still in a daze. Sitting down into a chair to her right, she leaned over and propped her arms on her knees.   
  
Nigeria certainly was falling, but there wasn't enough known about these people to bring in troops. Amazing, how little they knew even though the terrorists had taken over some of the country. The secrecy this group used was frightening; she hoped Lady Une had sent in the right sort of help.   
  
If something wouldn't be done soon, there'd be an uprising. To her, this was most likely. And this uprising would need help to get a clear start; they'd bring in more people, maybe even engage other countries. It was like President Mahini had said; Africa wasn't in good shape, and they were using this to their advantage.   
  
What next?  
  
Relena stood up slowly. Along with the other preparations, a meeting in some hall or other was being organized, she was sure of it. The moment after the President and his cabinet left, she would have to step up and explain the following.   
  
In a way, they had left her in a ditch to help herself out; but Relena couldn't feel resentment at their decision. Anne's shining eyes darted into her mind. She couldn't begrudge her that happiness.   
  
  
  
Slumped against the side of his man-made cave, Duo hung his feet over the edge in ultimate boredom. It had been exactly two hours since he had gotten to this hole, and since then, nothing had happened.   
  
Wiggling his toes in his boots, he leadenly watched the doors for any sign of movement. Finding none, he moved his line of vision to his feet, seeing them swing over the edge of wall. On impulse, he pulled his knees in, bringing his feet away from the dangerous heights, when the tiniest sounds of footsteps brought him back to alertness.   
  
Sitting up, eyes piercingly alarmed, he pulled back into the shadows till his back touched the wall. He inched the computer farther away from the light the chandelier gave off in a brief fit of paranoia.   
  
It was the exact, odd group of people from the day before. Duo curiously watched from his hideout as they took places around the table, nervously scooting their chairs back and forth, scraping the legs against the hard floor. A few seats were left uninhabited, but that's how it must've been supposed to be. The old man began the discussion, but in the native language of Nigeria.   
  
With a frustrated sigh, Duo allowed himself to watch rather than to listen. He didn't understand a single thing that came from the toothless mouth, or any of the mouths at that table, and hoped that he would find out when he got back to the Preventers.   
  
The discussion was heating up. The fifteen-year-olds' voice was rising shrilly, and the seventeen-year-old abruptly stood up to argue with her. A grin starting to steal over his features, Duo watched as the old man jumped up skittishly to quiet the teens down. They grudgingly obliged and the rest of the meeting followed much more quietly, yet saturated with a feeling of tense apprehension. Everyone was talking tersely with each other in clipped voices.   
  
In much this fashion the rest continued, with Duo changing positions uncomfortably every few minutes. Not understanding anything that was going on below him, he daydreamed about going back to the Cinq Kingdom.   
  
The constant hum of voices in his ear was a lulling sound, even when the pitches changed. The smoky, humid air that floated upwards soon had him sopping with sweat, wiping the beads off his forehead every so often. The vest lay in a little heap some ways from him, and the dark shirt followed not much later.   
  
Duo was thinking of kicking off his boots when the meeting seemed to end. The old man bitterly said something to the woman beside him and got up, starting for the door. The others followed wordlessly, their discussion at an end.   
Grateful for the convenience of ending this stuffy hiding, Duo waited a few minutes to ensure that he was alone and no one would come in. Carefully slipping all he had brought with him to the ground, he hoped this meant the end of his stay in Nigeria.  
  
He stretched, easing his tense muscles.   
  
"Finally, it's over." He muttered, all the while unhooking the little pieces of machinery from under the chairs and table. Taking out more normal clothes from the backpack he had with him, he set away his heavier things meant for being in the dark and from sight.   
  
A glance at his watch made him sourly feel the pit of hunger in his stomach; it was nearly three in the afternoon. He had been there since ten, maybe eleven in the morning without so much as a word bounced off his tongue.   
  
Shouldering his backpack, he slipped out of the room and down the hall, tactfully managing to leave the massive building unnoticed. It was time for him to return; though the terrorists had no reason to believe someone was onto them, they had no reason not to be suspicious of anyone anyway.   
  
Smirking, he thought that in one hour, he'd be long gone, and by evening, all traces of his visit would've disappeared.   
  
  
  
"I can carry my own luggage, sir." She said indifferently. The worker shrugged and walked off.   
  
All around were people, some with children, some with pets, others without any bags or purses. They were packed tightly together in a thick crowd, the noise they created ignored by each other, bumping into one another without apologizing. Airports would never cease to be this way; they would always be slightly confusing, packed with people, crazy, hectic.   
  
Dorothy eyed the strangers surrounding her, carefully tightening her grip on her suitcase. The strength those hands had was unimaginable; appearing to be too slim and fragile, no one would've guessed how easily she could've hurt them with a punch. But being reserved kept many from seeing the true power she possessed, an advantage in some situations.  
  
Finding a place to sit down for a moment proved to be hard. Dorothy wandered around the levels of the Airport, sometimes overlooking a bench to people-watch instead. Absent-mindedness was not something she usually had, but that day seemed to be hazy, as if she needed to grope her way to the exit. It was in this fit of inner restlessness that Dorothy bumped into someone, immediately alerting her into waking up.   
  
She glanced at the person in front of her, face expressionless, eyes icy and distant, setting her suitcase on the ground.   
  
"Mister Maxwell, what a surprise." She said dryly. Duo took a step back, eyes wide and jaw slack with the unexpected meeting.  
  
"Hello, Dorothy." He shifted the weight of the luggage in his hands by switching the suitcases around. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Dorothy clasped her hands behind her back indifferently.   
  
"I am here to see for myself what ESUN has gotten itself into." She replied with a lofty smirk. Duo nodded, skeptical, then shrugged.  
  
"I was about to catch a taxi. Want to join me?" Pausing, Dorothy stroked her coat with one hand thoughtfully, staring at a spot above Duo's right shoulder. She clasped her hands behind her back again, focusing her attention on Duo.  
  
"If that doesn't get in the way of any of your plans, I accept." He grinned at her formal response. Always formal, even in battle; never did she slip in that category.   
  
Walking back the way Dorothy had come Duo led her to the exits to where rows of taxis waited for clients. On the way out Duo glanced at Dorothy; she was silent, staring ahead, as if constantly busy with her thoughts. He also noticed that she seemed to be leaning sideways a little. Shaking his head, he halted.   
  
"Here, let me take that for you." Without waiting for her to reply he had grabbed her suitcase, adding its' weight onto the other two he already had. A little startled by the abrupt action, Dorothy glanced up at him then back at the ground. He knew she never would have asked him to carry it; she would never have asked him for anything, if possible.   
  
The last thing he had thought would happen was seeing her again, and yet, she had bumped into him in an Airport. He found that strange and, at the same time, completely normal. Making sure the suitcases were securely gripped in his hands, they continued to walk.   
  
People were rushing back and forth, surging between the doors and the cars. Someone even shouldered Dorothy out of their way, very lightly surprising her. She looked over her shoulder, and Duo pushed his way to a one of the cabs. After a short exchange of words he waved her over.   
  
While he was piling their things into the trunk, she stood by the door, vacantly staring at the glass. He closed the trunk, flipped his braid over his shoulder once more, and gave her the strangest of looks. Yet, she didn't react. Her skirt, long and dove-dray, shuddered in the cold breeze flying through, and she kept on gazing at the window.   
  
"Dorothy, are you alright?" She started up, almost as if she hadn't known he was right beside her. But she nodded her head quickly, burying her hands in the pockets of her coat.  
  
"I'm fine, thank you." He paused, stood next to her for a moment as if trying to find out why she had been so distant by watching the harsh winter sunshine on her hair. After a few moments of silence, he shrugged again and opened the door for her. She hastily climbed into the cab, scooting over so he would have space for a seat. Duo thanked her quickly then told the driver their destination.  
  
His head swerved over to look at Dorothy again.  
  
"You are headed for the Capitol Building, right?" She nodded. Duo sat down and the taxi pulled forward, pushing out of the dense throng of vehicles parked or driving alongside them. They reached the highway in minutes; it took little under a half hour to get to the Capitol Building (which happened to be situated close to the Preventers).   
  
During that time Dorothy chose to stare blankly out of the window on her side of the car, ignoring the person who had graciously offered to accompany her. Duo felt a little miffed at this, but not much worse.   
  
Truthfully, he knew very little about the infamous Dorothy Catalonia, known so well in some circles and so little in others. They were no more than acquaintances. So, Duo crossed his arms and stared out of his window, absorbing the surrounding traffic and highways. It was evening, and the roads weren't as busy as usual. Rush hour had passed.  
  
The sky grew darker as the taxi sped along the road, and Duo became uncomfortable with the silence brooding in the space inside the car. He knew it might bother her if he asked Dorothy questions; she herself didn't seem to mind the stillness. But he had to if he didn't want to begin to squirm in his seat.   
  
"Dorothy, why are you here?" Duo had felt curious about the answer since he saw her. Ever since the Libra his feelings about her were on shaky ground. Dorothy straightened, still gazing out the window.   
  
"I want to hear what the ESUN officials and the Cinq Kingdom Ministers have to say." Pause. "What about you?"  
  
Duo unsnapped the annoying seatbelt, casually wondering what to tell her. He settled into the seat, putting his hands behind his head as a cushion, just to stall.  
  
"I have returned from a mission." For the first time since they had joined company Dorothy looked directly at him, smiling with her lips pressed tightly together.   
  
"I see." She kept Duo's eyes fixed with her own. " I nearly forgot to ask, but how is everyone?" Duo pulled back, surprised. Everyone? She barely knew anyone else except for Zechs, Quatre and Heero. Even Duo was more of a stranger than a friend to her. She had no idea who Hilde was, had very little knowledge of Sally Po, and didn't know Catherine existed. Who was 'everyone' to her? And what could he say about Zechs, who was considered to be dead at the moment?   
  
"They're fine, I think. I haven't seen Quatre in a while..." Dorothy tilted her head to the side, unaware that this little action caused her hair to fall over her shoulder. It was as if she was asking for more information. Duo remembered the last time he had seen Quatre. "But I remember him to be doing fine."   
  
Dorothy, now wistful, flipped her hair over shoulder again. Duo cleared his throat.  
  
"Do you want to see Relena?" Dorothy whirled around to meet his eyes again, startled by this question. She calmed down almost immediately after, not used to having her guard brought down so easily for the second time.  
  
"That may be part of it. Frankly, Mister Maxwell, I am not entirely sure why I have come here." She said, perplexed at herself for freely giving him such private information. Duo gave her a grin.  
  
"I figured as much." Not much else was spoken.  
  
  
Duo stepped out of the taxi and held the door open for Dorothy. She carefully got out, looking up at the looming building ahead where streams of people were already going. Impressive to some, but not to her. The familiarity of the sight was somewhat reassuring.  
  
Someone stuck her suitcase in front of her, shaking her from a brief daydream. It was Duo, and he held her luggage to her, nonverbally asking her to take it. She did.   
  
"I'm not heading there for a while, so I guess I'll see you later." He said kindly. She turned her head to him, and he was caught again by surprise at the confusion and coolness of her eyes.  
  
"Goodbye, Mister Maxwell, and thank you for your help." She said, returning to her distant and unaffectionate nature. He stalked off with a wave and hurried to the Headquarters, hoping that the equipment hadn't been damaged on the trip in the airplane. The run-in with Dorothy was eerily fresh in his mind.   
  
Dorothy faced the massive columns, the grand staircase, the gargantuan proportions of the granite-and-marble Capitol Building with a defiant smirk. She stomped up the steps, grinding the heels of her shoes into the surfaces as if to purposefully leave a mark.   
  
She was going to find an answer in here, even it meant talking with Relena Peacecraft one more time. Determination and stubbornness obvious in the way she moved, the way she walked, how she held her head up high and the way her shoulders were swept back, that alone was enough to make people move aside for her.   
  
  
  
"Heero, please translate this." Lady Une ordered, eyes trained on the computer screen in front of her. The screen threw off a green light that illuminated her face and his in a strange way, but leaving the rest of the room in darkness. By the door, his hand on the knob, was Duo.   
  
"Will I know what they were talking about when you get that finished?" He asked inquisitively. Lady Une, with her back to him and leaning over Heero to see the computer, shrugged.   
  
"I can't say just yet, we have to access the discussion first." Duo pursed his lips unsatisfactorily but kept himself from arguing. He was tired and still needed to attend the large get-together at the-  
  
"Lady Une, ma'am?" Duo opened the door and a Preventer nearly crashed through into the room. The Lady whirled around, slightly angry.  
  
"Is something wrong?" The Preventer glanced at Duo uneasily.  
  
"Yes, ma'am." The Lady blanched, leaving Heero to his work. After a brief, uninterested glance over his shoulder, Heero returned to the computer with all of his determination, the people behind him pushed out of his mind completely.  
  
"What is it?" The Preventer took a step back.  
  
"You will want to hear this for yourself, ma'am." She nodded, taking hasty steps to the door. Glancing at Duo, she motioned with a nod of the head for him to follow. Hands in pockets he did.   
  
  
  
Dorothy, pushing her way through the halls and people, clutched her suitcase defensively. Never had their been so many in this building; not that she could remember, anyway. Then again, she hadn't been in the Cinq Kingdom for some time. Her return to the political groups of the Capitol Building would certainly shake some foundations.   
  
Turning into a secluded branch leading to the back of the stage, she walked as if she had never been surer of anything in years. When the heat become more than tolerable, she halted to take off her coat. Her clothing, barely wrinkled, was plain; a gray jacket over a long skirt.   
  
Her eyes followed a person past her, their intensity setting them on edge and hurrying their steps. A smirk trailed over her face before she picked up her overcoat and suitcase to continue walking.   
  
Once in the familiar setting of the backstage, she tucked her things into a closet. Smoothing down the tailored jacket at her hips, she found a chair to sit in.   
  
Something Duo had said had changed her mind. She would talk with Relena, even if it meant waiting for hours. The smirk melted away, her eyes taking on a cold, mean gleam. People were rushing through the doors, finding seats. She could hear the noise, though she did not take notice of it. For a relatively unimportant meeting, the building was packed.   
  
The outrage of people certainly did amuse her. Outrage gave way to motivation; they were on a mission to find out what was happening, since the changes in the last six hours were tremendous. Dorothy settled her hands in her lap, preparing for a long wait.   
  
  
  
Anne settled into her seat eagerly, snapping the seatbelt together across her lap. She leaned into the sparse cushioning of the plane seats, closing her eyes briefly. Behind her, she heard Kya Johnson and Mahini settle into their seats, conversing pleasantly. Everyone was glad to be going back, though anxious about the possible danger involved.  
  
Unseen by anyone was the pent-up look of anger Anne had when she thought of how these people wanted to destroy the newly gained peace, and her not even in the same nation to help fight. Her fingers tapping the armrest, she glared at the seat in front of her. A vengeance rose in her, a want to fight back.   
  
Signs for seatbelts and 'no smoking, please' flashed in front of her. Engines roaring, the plane began to move forward slowly. Her ears popped once, twice. The plane bounced on the runway maybe three times before becoming airborne. Again, the constant ear popping.   
  
The flight was to take maybe five hours, this being a machine used more for cargo than the mass transportation of people. But they had to use what they could bargain security for; this was the closest thing.   
  
She vaguely hoped that she'd have the chance of meeting with the Vice Foreign Minister again, someday, before the plane straightened into a more horizontal fashion heading for Africa.  
  
  
  
Dorothy was a needed addition to the group, ne?...I really hope this wasn't as choppy as I think it is. Anyway, biology needs my attention, so-  
  
Please review! 


	5. Ch. 5 A shock

Disclaimer: GW couldn't ever be mine unless I won the lottery and it was up for sale through a stroke of luck.....  
  
  
  
  
  
Evening, 7:30 PM, in the Capitol Building. Backstage, in one of the dressing rooms, stood Relena, a small speech written on note cards in her hands. She was standing to the side of the door, eyes trained on the wall in front of her. In her mind, she was rewinding the words she had put together till she knew them by heart; since she wasn't the only one saying something that evening, hers was only a few minutes long. The audience was unusually large for something so unremarkable, but she blocked that from her thoughts.   
  
The formal suit felt uncomfortable to her, the starched collar grazing her jaw and the lace at the cuffs brushing roughly against her wrists. Reaching up to push back a strand of hair, she realized there was none; all of it was pulled back with an elegant bow, flowing down her back, between her shoulder blades.   
  
Turning on her heel, she walked out into the hall. Since she had come one hour earlier she had seen only three people; two stagehands and a maid. They rushed by, not taking notice of her. In a way, she was glad they hadn't.   
  
Farther down the hall to her right was a figure sitting rigidly in a chair, hands in lap. Relena raised her eyebrows; it didn't look like anyone she knew. With one hand clutching her speech, she made her way to the person curiously.   
  
When she was close enough her eyes widened, startled into halting. Pausing briefly, she faltered. A few minutes ticked by; meanwhile, the maid scurried past her again, hastening when a cold stare latched onto her. Relena shook her head and continued, padding softly over.   
  
"Dorothy?" Her voice was quiet, but astonished. Dorothy didn't jump, but jerkily swung her head around to see who it was. The expression on her face had an frigid, icy quality to it, and Relena tilted her head to the side in search of anything else. Standing up, Dorothy's skirt brushed against the chair, whispering as she moved.   
  
"Miss Relena." Her hands fell to her sides and stayed there, her entire figure unmoving. Eyes flickering, she darted glances at Relena's face, eyes. To the other person, she hadn't seemed to age at all. The blonde hair still fell neatly to the backs' of her knees, the chin still held at a proud angle. The timelessness around her made Relena pull back, though her curiosity increased.   
  
But before anything could be said, someone rushed to Relena, waiting at her elbow. She twisted her head to the side expectantly.   
  
"Miss Foreign Vice Minister, it's time to begin." She nodded and looked at Dorothy one more time. Dorothy took a step back and sat down.  
  
"I'll wait." She murmured, expression distant. Relena didn't know whether to be relieved or anxious about that, but she turned around to file with the others who'd be speaking at the podium onto the stage.   
  
On the way out, she passed by Lady Une, who stood several feet from her. Making a motion to talk with her, she had walked onto the stage before it was possible. Lady Une stopped by the curtains, ignoring the sea of faces so close to her, staring at Relena's back. Too late.   
  
The others sat down while Relena positioned herself at the familiar place behind the podium, fingers lightly gripping the edges, the note cards spaced out in front of her in case she needed them.   
  
"Thank you for coming..."  
  
  
Dorothy listened wordlessly to the speeches traveling through the speakers above her. Except for those voices, none of the audience even coughed. She smirked to herself. The feeling of being back, once again, in the forest of politics made a sweet shudder course down her spine. Everything before had seemed so out of place when she had returned home, even lonelier than before. At least before the War was over, she had known what to do most of the time. Now, with peace and all taken care of, nothing was left for her.   
  
It would change, she was sure of that.   
  
Shaking herself from her lack of interest, she looked up. Glancing down at her watch, she saw it was now 8:30 PM. One of the speakers was certainly taking their time. Relena had taken only six minutes and thirty-six seconds; Dorothy had clocked her. After, time snaked by or vanished as if in a second, depending on what mood she found herself in.   
  
Finding that her feet were asleep, she stood up and paced back and forth. The expression on Relena's face had been priceless; she hadn't thought she'd ever see Dorothy again, or at least, not this soon. Maybe a decade or so later, not barely a year after the war had wound down.   
  
The sound of creaking stopped her in her thoughts, and Dorothy froze.  
  
"Excuse me, may I know who you are?" An inquisitive voice asked. She frowned; it sounded like a child. Turning around slowly, her hair sweeping around, she eyed the girl behind her. Sitting in a wheelchair, red hair combed into a side part, eyes bright with an unusual sense of intelligence and curiosity, sat someone maybe a few years younger than herself. Head tilted to the side, she waited for an answer.   
  
Dorothy straightened herself, shoulders sliding back.  
  
"I am Dorothy Catalonia." The girl seemed was highly surprised, but only for a moment before she calmed. She sat up as rigidly straight as possible in her wheelchair.  
  
"And I am Mariemaia Kushrenada." Dorothy felt what could be described as astonishment; though not letting this show, stared down at the crippled child with unerring coldness. Mariemaia returned the unwelcome stare, adding her own tightlipped frown.  
  
Dipping her head down, studying her coolly from lowered eyelashes, she allowed something of a stiff grin to come across her face. Mariemaia was unlike any child she had met; Dorothy's interest melted into strong curiousity.  
  
"You are Treize's only daughter?"   
  
"Yes." Dorothy's predator grin pulled up at the corners in an approving way.   
  
"I didn't think he ever had offspring."   
  
"Is this conversation supposed to have a point, Miss Catalonia?" The liking for Mariemaia increased.  
  
Mariemaia broke eye contact and turned her head to the curtain. Dorothy let her expression resume it's usual coolness, waiting. Mariemaia smiled to herself, a tiny smile.   
  
"People are odd, aren't they?" She mused out loud.  
  
Dorothy nodded in agreement.   
  
" I have been thinking that this whole evening." She murmured the reply. "Why come if they knew most of what was going to be said? Why sit for hours and wait for information that has already been broadcasted? Why take a stand for the purpose of gossip? Yet, they always come, unfailingly." Mariemaia's clear blue eyes darted back to Dorothy.  
  
"I have to leave now, Lady Une is most likely looking for me."   
  
"Lady Une?" The name stuck to her tongue when Dorothy spoke it; another familiar name. Yes, it was good to be back.  
  
"She took me in and takes care of me now." Mariemaia placed her hands at the wheels hesitantly. "Are you leaving after this?" Dorothy smirked.  
  
"I think I'll be found here; there's nothing for me to return to." The girl nodded, and strained at the wheels to move the wheelchair around and down the other side of the hall. After a few moments of pushing, she felt the chair begin to roll forward without her help.  
  
Dorothy pushed her down the hall silently, and Mariemaia leaned into the cushioned seats without a word. A "Thank you" had already been given.  
  
  
  
Listening to the crowd outside, Dorothy received what she had hoped for. A loud bout clapping began, not stopping for several minutes. She knew that, in that time, the speakers had filed into the backstage area. She dimly wondered who the last to give a speech was, since she had been distracted.   
  
Lady Une was waiting for Relena at the edges of the curtains. If she had put one foot out she would've been onstage, so close was she. When Relena finally came into view, she gripped her arm in one strong hand, taking her aside. Looking up, sudden anxiousness flooding the girl's eyes, Relena sidestepped closer.   
  
"Miss Peacecraft, would you please come with me." Lady Une demanded tersely.  
  
"Of course." At that moment, Dorothy and Mariemaia sidled up to them, both with expectant faces. But they kept silent. Lady Une released Relena's arm, keeping her eyes locked with her.   
  
"We need to go to the Preventer's." The corners of her mouth jerked down at the sobriety in Lady Une's tone. She nodded, her shoulders sagging. Mariemaia twisted in her seat to watch Dorothy's face, who looked back at her with an unreadable expression.   
  
Passing Relena, Lady Une grabbed hold of the handlebars on the wheelchair, ready to lead them all to the Preventer's. She glanced at Dorothy, who immediately put herself beside Relena in a stoic manner. Shrugging, she signaled she could come along, easing some of the anxiousness that had sprung up in the blonde.   
  
  
  
On the way out, Relena had instructed one of the maids to inform her ministers where she would be - with the knowing that they would be worried that she had left without protection.  
  
Since the crowd was immense, they left through a side exit. It was an odd procession of people going down the nearly uninhabited street, but no one was there to witness it. Hurriedly, through the dark, they reached Preventer Headquarters.   
  
Without stopping, Lady Une brought them through the inspection gates and down a number of halls before stopping at a barred door. With a flick of the wrist she brought out an ID card, slipping it through a small machine beside the door handle, and ushered them in. Dorothy tensed when someone passed behind her, but her frightening glare made them hurry.   
  
The room that they now entered was dark, and all blinked several times before becoming even slightly accustomed to it. Only then did Lady Une seem to remember Mariemaia; with a few words she departed and brought the girl to her room. She considered this to be something that Mariemaia would have to find out later, as would the rest. Leaving Dorothy and Relena to themselves for a few minutes, she pushed the still silent redhead along.   
  
Finding the heat suddenly above tolerable, Relena unbuttoned her tailored jacket, slinging it over the arm of her rather frilly blouse. Rolling her shoulders, she wordlessly headed for a square green light at the end of the room, knowing that her new companion would follow. The familiarity of her was, perhaps, comforting in that she found herself in such a shaky situation.   
  
Her hip slammed into something, and Relena backed away a step. Squinting, she made out the shape of a table. With one hand reaching in front of her, following the surface of it, she continued her way. The green light, she found, was interrupted by something; some dark shadow. It flickered several times as she came closer before finally freezing in position.   
  
The flicker appeared once more, and Relena, now more or less used to the dark, found it to be a person. Forgetting the developing bruise on her hip, she hurried her pace, her jacket swinging stiffly from her arm when she dodged something in her way.   
  
The green glow came from a small computer screen; the flicker indeed was a person, who now stared at her woodenly, the light reflecting part of his face and shadowing the rest. Dubious, Relena wanted to get closer before drawing up a conclusion.   
  
"Relena?" A voice whispered. Startling Relena, Dorothy surged forward, placing herself in front of her and leaning toward the computer. She grasped the edges of the slim table it was on in both hands, studying the words displayed on it. While she was reading, Relena concentrated on who was standing just two feet in front of her. The sound of a door opening, the light it briefly threw on them, and a door closing just barely passed through her mind.  
  
"Heero?" Eyes round, she added, "You're the agent-"  
  
"No." He interrupted smoothly. "Duo went to Nigeria, not me."  
  
"Duo?" Relena's eyebrows pulled together as she thought. Heero watched her closely, something discontent and uneasy flitting across his face. "I see."   
  
Again, a door opened, closed. A slender beam of bright light passed over him again.  
  
"The conference was so boring. Heero, have you translated all that?"   
  
Relena broke the eye contact with Heero to look over her shoulder. A surprised Duo halted the moment he saw just who it was leaning over the computer, her shoulder outlined in the glow given off the computer screen, strands of blonde spilling over back and sides.  
  
"Dorothy? How'd you get here?" He squinted. "Don't tell me-" Heero pulled back, falling into a chair that had been pushed aside. He crossed his arms over his chest, slumping, and directed his attention back at Relena.   
  
"It's translated." He said loudly, and Duo came closer. Not far behind him, marching quickly, was Lady Une. Relena glanced at Heero once more then turned back to Shinigami.  
  
"Good evening, Duo."   
  
"Relena, you, too?" His mouth formed a grin, "It's a regular party."   
  
With a sudden jerk, Dorothy pulled herself away from the computer, dismay pouring into her expression. She turned to Relena, hands tapping the edge of the table, turning the palms up, pity in her gestures. With a shake of the head, she took some steps back, motioning for Relena to see for herself. Glancing over at Lady Une, Relena wondered what to do. With a reluctant nod, the Lady urged her on.  
  
She bent slowly over, her jacket slipping onto the table's surface, concentrating on the information openly shown for her. Heero sagged into the chair, looking down at the floor, arms still crossed. He refused to move otherwise.   
  
One of those silences spanned over the few minutes that passed, the kind where one couldn't talk but wished someone would. Duo, feeling as if he had been left out of something let himself lean against a file cabinet in wonder, watching the others intently. Resignation tiding Dorothy over, she stared at Relena's slim shoulders, waiting.   
  
The time was up. Heero was the first to notice, having a side view of her just three feet in front of him. She took a gulp of air, rose, straightened, and turned on the heels of her feet, arms swinging loosely at her sides. In a glassy-eyed state of shock, she glanced at Lady Une.  
  
"It's too late, isn't it?" Her voice was disturbingly quiet.   
  
With a soft nod, Lady Une confirmed it. Relena pressed her lips together, worry, agitation, but mostly blame creating shadows over her face. The jacket fell to the floor in a stiff heap, automatically causing Heero's vision to glide over the material in alarm.   
  
Though she could've easily slid to her knees and sob, Relena locked her legs to keep from falling. Tongue darting out to wet her lips, suddenly so dry, she softly walked to the door, hand outstretched for the knob.  
  
"I am going to have to tell the ministers now, maybe the news is still there..." She muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Thank you for showing me this immediately, Lady Une. Good night."   
  
Feeling much too confused to say anything Duo inched to the computer, craning his neck till he could get a view of it. Skipping the few parts he knew to be least important, he read with widening eyes. Sometimes sending little glances at Heero, who remained looking after Relena, he finished murmuring to himself and raking his fingers through his bangs.  
  
Shrugging, Dorothy followed her old companion, carelessly slipping a thick strand of hair over her shoulder.   
  
"I'm going to leave now as well." Lady Une said tonelessly.  
  
A set of footsteps echoed in the hall, joined by another.   
  
Duo, mouth twitching with unsaid things, leaned his elbows on the table.  
  
"I think I'll go, too. Good night, Heero, don't forget to lock up here." He muttered, upset, and drove his hands into his pockets.   
  
  
  
For a person with such a violent reaction to the information Dorothy had handled herself pretty coldly. Heero tilted his head to the computer, glaring angrily at its' screen. At the moment, he wanted to block the notion raving in his mind about the dangerousness of this new group of terrorists to carry it all so far as to execute.   
  
Not to mention the fright it would cause worldwide; how could something so small expand so quickly? Blocking these thoughts included the shocked, horrified expression of Relena when she first understood the crisis; it had only lasted half a second, but seemed frozen in his memory. She had become something of a friend to the Nigerian politicians, and this was a hard blow.   
  
In his opinion, the expression was a result of over exaggeration, since no one could feel so violently about people they had met less than a dozen times, and always under the influences of formalities. Heero studied a nick in the surface of the table; that had to be it. She over exaggerated too often - then he shook his head, as if reminding himself that it was a complete lie.   
  
Tapping a key on the keyboard, Heero shut down the computer, knowing the information was deeply embedded in guarded files. Now, the room had no light at all, but it didn't matter. Through the last three weeks Heero had gotten to know the area well enough. He stood up, pushing the chair back, and stalked by the table and filing cabinets to the door.   
  
His mission was over; he could return to the flat he temporarily called 'home.'   
  
Why did that feel so wrong?  
  
  
The collar of his coat turned up, Heero plodded out into the streets, now crowded. He saw a group assembled around someone who he guessed to be Relena. Some looked towards him, but indifferently, thinking he didn't have much to say. They had their cameras and news vans dotting the street, ignoring the many 'No Parking' signs.  
  
When someone in the group moved to a better angle for their camera, he did see Relena. Stopping, he observed the way her resigned manner went unnoticed by the rest; when someone crowded too close, he also saw Dorothy move forward and offer them a stinging glare.   
  
Her jacket. Heero had hung it on his arm, and glanced down at it. The cloth had been starched to cardboard stiffness. Glancing back at Relena, eyes empty, shoulders stooped, answering questions in two or three words, he wondered how she would get to her limo, now parked at the curb and waiting. She wouldn't move herself from the pack, and it was already past ten o'clock. And it was beginning to get cold, while she wore only the flimsy blouse. With a scowl at how she always seemed able to interfere, if unintentionally, he stepped forward and elbowed his way through the group to Relena.   
  
She glanced at him wordlessly.   
  
"At exactly what time was the Nigerian President and his cabinet assassinated, Miss Foreign Vice Minister?" Her line of vision didn't move from Heero. They weren't assassinated in the terrorists' eyes, but rightfully executed. Ushered from the plane immediately after landing, they had been politely ordered to stand in front of a wall and had the choice of a blindfold.   
  
"At four o'clock in Nigeria; six o'clock here, due to the time difference." She responded softly.   
  
Heero pushed someone to the side to let him pass. Swiftly pulling an arm around her shoulders, he urged her through. Some people parted to make way for them, others had to be forced to move. Dorothy followed, curious as to the surprising gesture, closely behind. Minister Io and Davis, exchanging incredulous side glances, fell in with the three, replying to the questions cried out. Relena let herself be led out of the dense ring of people, now coming after in an excited rush.   
  
But the curb wasn't far away. Heero's arm draped over her shoulders guided her from cameras and people to her car, the fingers of his hand curled lightly around her upper arm. Both kept their heads down.  
  
Arriving at the car, Heero yanked the door open, and Relena slid in. Dorothy stopped at it, tilting her head to the side, and stared at Heero. He silently returned the cold, hard look and waited. Dororthy's mouth twisted into a grim smirk, leaving that as her thanks, and climbed in. Heero threw the jacket in after and shut the door.   
  
The sounds of people exclaiming their displeasure at finding their resource unavailable came back to him and he left hastily, digging his hands into the pockets' of his coat.  
  
A feeling of contriteness sank it into him; it still felt wrong to leave. He bitterly stomped off in the cold air of late evening.  
  
  
  
Silently trudging up the steps, Relena was thankful that Dorothy kept her tongue in check. An argument over her stay in Montreal, attending the high school, would have been least appreciated at the moment. After having been tartly called an "...ignorant fool..." to finish off the chaotic evening, all she wanted was the comfort of her pillow. The gruff reassurance of Heero gone, she pulled her coat closer around herself, though it did a poor job of replacing it.   
  
Having gone another four steps without hearing anyone behind her, Relena looked over shoulder warily. Dorothy had insisted on coming along, and she was beginning to wonder what the sudden need for companionship really was.   
  
The blonde had stopped a ways behind, staring deadpan into the grand hall leading to the back of the Peacecraft Mansion. The chandeliers, their crystals causing the light to bounce into each niche of the area, reflected off her pale face. In one hand she loosely held a suitcase, the surface of it scratched with travel.   
  
Relena turned around, facing her, puzzled.   
  
"Dorothy?" She would have asked more if not for the apprehensive feeling of being rude. Wanting to ask why she had even come, leaving the Catalonia estate, she thought that maybe she would explain willingly, without her nudging.   
  
Anxiousness took hold. Dorothy had slowly, almost painfully twisted her head around. She really was pale; the corners of her mouth, turned down in a constant frown, twitched. Her blue eyes, usually reprimanding, smoldering, even arrogant, were profoundly changed. They were unsure, had clouded over with insecurity, and pleaded for help. She locked eyes with Relena, keeping her fastened in place. The intensity that represented Dorothy's normally strong character had fallen back, leaving the faltering void to be filled with a failing need.   
  
All at once, the resolve returned to her eyes and composure, hardening quickly, acidic, glowering, angry. Dorothy, sneering, returned to staring out over the hall, breaking the eye contact abruptly in a way that suggested spite for herself.   
  
Relena shook her herself, a warning going off in her head telling her not to pursue the odd thing that had just happened. She started going up the stairs again.  
  
"I'll show you a room you can use." She gently said over her shoulder. After a moment, footsteps sounded behind her. Good.   
  
For now, Dorothy was here. And until she felt she could trust herself enough to speak to Relena about her visit, she'd stay. Relena trotted down the corridor, the thick, red rug muffling each sound she made, to the east wing. Picking a room not too far from her own, she gestured to the door. Dorothy, suddenly morose, stopped a ways behind her, staring at the door.   
  
A pause followed before she nodded, grasped the handle, and let herself in, shutting the door immediately behind her. Relena, at a glance down the way they had come, saw a butler trotting along. She waved him over.  
  
"Miss Dorothy Catalonia will be staying in this room; please see to her comfort."  
  
  
I have a bad feeling as to how this went; either way, critizism would be appreciated as well as anything else!  
  
  
Please review! 


	6. Ch. 6 Darling Dorothy...

Dislcaimer: To own GW is a dream, and only a dream.......  
  
  
  
(This happens three days after the Sunday when Relena returned)  
  
  
  
Tapping her pen against the surface of the table in the main lobby, Dorothy reviewed the packet once more. Since that fateful Sunday it had played through her mind without end, causing her to spend hours on making a decision.  
  
She hadn't expected this in the least; joining the Preventers' was something that didn't fit into her plans, meager as they were. With only a few days to have thought it over, she doubted she could make a logical choice. Her thoughts were scrambled with the possibilities this had, though.  
  
If she did join, she would be reuniting with something familiar and partially connected with her past, what she knew, what she had lived. Instead of the skull-cracking boredom of living, alone and not kept busy with something, she could be among the things she had come to love, in a sense. Be with the things that had kept her alive in the past...  
  
Shaking her head, she threw the packet onto the table along with the pen. She had come for answers, not a past time. Propping her chin in her hands, she stared anguishedly at the open spaces on the paper to write in her name, birthdate, area of expertise, etc. and wondered if answers was all she had come for.  
  
She remembered Duo Maxwell, at the Airport. How did he manage it? Hadn't he gone through much the same as she? And yet, he seemed downright glad to be alive, while she had considered suicide several times before - a tedious choice, really.  
  
Lacking the courage, or cowardice, to go through with the idea had stopped her, though.  
  
She played with the sleeve of her sweater to keep herself from breaking something. A child of battle and death, born into a life of war and torn existences, that was what she was. That was how she felt. Now, the war was over and cleaned up after, leaving her behind in uncertainty.   
  
Dorothy glanced down at the rug, unable to keep her expression from growing downcast. Thankfully, her hair became a thick curtain around her face and hid the vivid emotions she couldn't supress.   
  
"Ma'am?" They just couldn't leave her alone, even after she had ordered it. Dorothy waited a moment before raising her head, pushing her hair back and giving whoever had disturbed her a belittling stare.   
  
Someone in a gray suit stood above her, but seated himself opposite her in one of the chairs. He ran a hand through his hair, black, graying at the sides; she guessed him to be middle-aged. He handed her a glass of water, and she raised an eyebrow snidely in question.  
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"Ma'am, I saw you from across the room, and thought this would help." He looked rather embarrassed, so Dorothy nodded and waved a hand as if letting the whole thing pass.  
  
"Thank you, sir, that was very kind. If you don't mind, I am slightly busy at the moment." The man bowed his head, and she turned a keener eye on him. He seemed to be the fatherly type, though, through lack of fatherly presences, she might have been wrong.  
  
"Ma'am, I know this will sound odd, but I have a daughter much like yourself." Really. Dorothy remained skeptical. "She always needs a glass of water to prevent headaches whenever she is confronted with a problem. I thought it might help."   
  
He stood up and smiled, picking up a briefcase to his left.  
  
"Good luck." Dorothy, feeling slightly confused, nodded.  
  
"Thank you." The man left, and Dorothy glanced at the glass. Two icecubes bobbed on the surface, and she reluctantly took it into her hand, letting the cool residue bring her back to what she was supposed to be studying.   
  
Then, a thought struck her.  
  
She didn't necessarily have to turn it in.  
  
Picking the pen up, she wrote her name in the slot at the top of the page, the man having completely slipped from her memory. Following that, her exact birthdate, information about her appearances, weight, height, previous to recent illnesses, etc. The rest of that day was given to those papers.  
  
While filling these out, Dorothy sipped from the glass of water in her hand, feeling all the more satisfactory each time she finished a page.  
  
  
  
Term papers, six of them, each having to be at least four pages long, single-spaced, one more test to go, a packet for one subject, six worksheets for another, and the list was lenghtening. This, including the homework due in the next few days, added to what was waiting for her in Cinq, created the most hectic schedule Relena ever had the unfortunate luck to meet.  
  
Not to mention her cold, after having nearly disappeared for a few days, had returned much stronger than before.   
  
Relena spent most of Monday night awake, pouring over assignments that had to be turned in. That day at school had been one nightmare after another; her bookbag had a ripped seam just from carrying all she needed back home. Lark was still cool towards her, but warmed up once she saw Relena and heard her explanation. But she hated herself for lying to yet another friend; that hate accompanied her all through school, and became acutely felt each time she had to tell it again to another person.  
  
On Tuesday, she discovered she hadn't passed the last test. Trying desperately to finish up another lump of late work, she stayed up till 3 AM and nearly slept through all of her first class the next day.  
  
Wednesday being the last day for her, she left early (her last class being study hall) and went home under the pretense of a serious cold. Instead of resting, as would've been common sense, she latched onto a cup of tea and, headache in tow, hammered down on the rest of the late work. Having told her teachers of her next leave, due to the death of her Grandmother, she had even more work to get to later.   
  
Coughing, pasty, clammy, she boarded the jet back to Cinq. On the way, as was becoming habit, she prepared another speech through her sputterings and hacking. Several times, the stewardess came by to ask if she wanted medication. Relena would only wave her kindly away.  
  
Being shuttled back and forth every week was wrecking Relena's sense of time. The jetlag afterwards was horrible enough to keep her up for two nights, letting her droop with exhaustion during the day when her body was aching for a pillow and sleep and her head screaming with pressure. It was enough to make her easily irritable, though she tried not to be and acted with the most patience she could come up with then.  
  
The ministers didn't rush to her side, but glanced at her with worry. At seeing her safely off the jet, they filed into their office and set about creating a campaign for the untimely and unexpected deaths of the Nigerian committee. The campaign would sponsor their trip around Cinq, which would last ten days, where a few officials and the Vice Foreign Minister would appeal to the crowd's mourning and win their favor for any future political battles. Relena felt as if this was just a cover-up for the true purpose of the campaign, for some, anyway; the real reason they were doing this was to show the pity and sadness they felt for losing such good people.   
  
Still, she couldn't help but innerly moan at the amount of work she was going to have to finish, at school and in Cinq.   
  
Crushing a few pulpy grains left over from lunch in her mouth, she studied the layout of their trip. It was going to cover eleven cities in three weeks; she didn't know if she'd be able to pass the semester grades if this continued. Folding the paper containing the plane schedules and her tickets, she tucked them into her purse and set that off to the side. Then, she set on a wide-brimmed hat, tan-colored, like the rest of her suit.   
  
They had left her alone for the summed-up total of ten minutes. It was relaxing, in a way. Minister Io had found a flaw, and taken Minister Davis with him to correct it. That left her alone with security, those cheerful individuals.  
  
She glanced over her shoulder, out the large windows opening into the front of the mansion. The northern area, especially in the west, had taken a sudden dive into extremely cold weather. Snow had fallen before the jet had landed, welcomed Relena into the settling blurry white. Now, only a few flakes came down, creating a serenity that didn't befit the situation she was in at all.  
  
Her eyes widened. It was a day after she had arrived, yet she hadn't even thought of her unexpected guest from last week's disaster. Immediately raising herself from her chair, she strode through the door and, followed by two armed men, walked down to where she had put Dorothy.   
  
It was a lengthy walk, stretching from her office in the front of the building to the far back. Placing a hand over her mouth to cough, she turned into the corridor leading to Dorothy's room and knocked on the door.   
  
Nothing behind it was heard. Relena leaned in to knock again when someone opened and quietly peeked through to her; she recognized the eyes, that profound, icy blue, but not the expression they held. Afer a silent moment, she nodded her in, but demanded the guards to stay outside and keep to themselves.   
  
Eyebrows raised, Relena cleared her throat at seeing Dorothy's suitcase packed. Glancing back at Dorothy, she saw her in a green army uniform, the uniform she had on when fighting alongside Zechs. A faint smirk trailed across her face, and Relena put a hand up to her forehead.  
  
"May I know what you are planning, Dorothy?" Dorothy clasped her hands behind her back and raised her chin a little higher when she responded.  
  
"I'm leaving." Dorothy walked to the suitcase on her bed, already made, and stroked the worn leather. Her smirk lessened, and contentment passed through her body, visibly loosening the strict way she held herself.  
  
"Where to?" Relena felt, again, astonished at the suddeness Dorothy displayed, though she had known she was somewhat spontaneous when the need presented itself. Brushing a thick coil of blonde hair over her shoulder, Dorothy again turned around to meet her stare, but with knowing.  
  
"I'm joining the Preventers', Miss Relena."   
  
"Excuse me?" Relena's voice became high-pitched, and she rocked back on her heels with the news. "Why now?"  
  
Amused, Dorothy tilted her head and shrugged.  
  
"A decision I made in the past few days during your absence; please, don't worry, you have an annoying habit of doing so."   
  
"How-"  
  
"I was thinking. It came to me, and I slowly found myself agreeing with the terms of the idea. Quite a surprise the chance just fell into my hands, really, but I'm going to bring in my papers right now." A corner of her mouth pulled up. "I didn't want to leave without telling you personally. You have been extremely gracious, and I wanted to thank you."   
  
Relena calmed down and tugged at her sleeve, a smile starting to appear.   
  
"Of course." But apprehension returned to her and she looked around for a chair. Finding one in a corner, she pulled it closer and sat. "Have you really thought this through, though?"  
  
"Yes, I have." Dorothy, against her will and sobriety, let some anxiousness leak into her cool expression. "Miss Relena, I don't understand why I came here, though part of the reason was that I was expriencing numbing boredom.  
  
"I still don't know why I came, though I feel more welcome in this society, disliked as I am. I think that staying here would be of more use to me than retiring to the estate and thinking of the pistol in my father's den as much I do." A mirthless grin took hold while she started to pace the width of the room. "How cliche that would be for me, suicide. I don't want an easy way out for the sharks to feed off my life story.  
  
"The Preventers' organization is something familiar and involves what I know and have learned. I don't see any other chance for me, or any other life." She halted in her pacing, staring at the wall in front of her with her back to Relena. "The only thing left of my will is wrapped into this, and I don't want to have to be reborn to survive."   
  
Turning around, she seemed to have finished, the mirthless grin gone from her mouth, leaving behind an empty, emotionless expression.  
  
Relena shifted in the chair, hands in lap, eyebrows pulled together sharply. She glanced at the suitcase again, then back at Dorothy. The hooded look in her eyes guarded any information to be gained from there; Relena let a small sigh interrupt her breathing pattern.  
  
She had finally opened up, even if it was only a slit in a seam of armor, a trickle of what she held inside. That was mostly what Relena had wanted.  
  
Standing up and pushing the chair back into its' corner, Relena tried to understand the grave logic with which Dorothy had explained her decision. To her, it seemed a little dramatic; she hadn't ever been in charge of soldiers (or the cause of their deaths) like Dorothy, though.   
  
She picked up her suitcase, pulling it from the bed and letting it bump against her side. Without another thought Relena opened the door for her, and the guards outside straigtened immediately. Ignoring both, they walked out into the hall wordlessly and continued on so till they reached the main lobby. Here, Relena stopped. She couldn't leave.  
  
Dorothy halted reluctantly, turned around. A faltering, distraught version of a smile appeared on her face, stretching her mouth. Her confidence was slightly shaken, but understandably so. Without another glance around her surroundings, she marched out into the street; strangely, she didn't feel much different.   
  
Having expecting a sudden lift of the weight she thought she felt, Dorothy found herself to be just the same. A taxi pulled up to her side, and a memory shook her into remembering Duo, opening the door for her. He made it.   
  
So would she.  
  
  
Dorothy is more involved than I ever thought she'd be....but I'm having a kick writing this. If something is confusing, do tell me!  
  
Please review!!  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Ch.7 Signed-up and ready

Disclaimer: No, no, no, no, NO!-unfortunately....  
  
Surprise - I got a little tired of Heero and Duo being the last additions to the Preventers' force everywhere. So here's a booster package; Heero and Duo aren't the only ones with ambition.  
  
For the last 3 months I have not been able to update anything, and now that I've found somewhere where I can (SCORE, I love them school comps!!), there is definitely going to be more. I think this will be one of the few mass-uploadings I'll do, though.  
  
*Vixen, you have been a huge help and fun as heck, I tip my hat to thee!   
  
  
  
"Lady Une? Someone is here to see you, ma'am." Glancing up, the Lady dropped the pen onto the table and leaned back into her chair. With a quick glance at her wristwatch (8:32 PM), she nodded for the secretary to bring them in.  
  
Eyebrow raised, she spoke a cordial greeting in as little a surprised manner as possible.   
  
"Please, sit down, Miss Catalonia." Dorothy bowed her head, but watched the Lady from the slits her eyes had become, the blue in them sparkling dangerously. Rolling her shoulders in the suit she wore, she slowly walked closer till she stood in front of her desk.   
  
"They haven't told you my reasons for coming?" She mused out loud. Lady Une titled her head questioningly.  
  
"No, your visit is unexpected." Dorothy frowned slightly, displeased. Shrugging, she retreated a few steps and fell into a chair, bringing around a briefcase and setting it in her lap. Wordlessly, she opened the flap and took out a manila folder, setting the briefcase on the ground.   
  
Slipping the folder onto the Lady's desk, she gave her a tightlipped smile. While Lady Une picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her hand, she spoke.  
  
"I came to Cinq not more than two weeks ago on a whim; through a fluke, and chance, I had an opportunity given to me." Lady Une let her eyes slide from the folder, packed with papers, most of which were forms, to Dorothy with quiet bewilderment.   
  
"Yes?" She asked coolly. The tightlipped smile disappeared, replaced by grim sincerity.   
  
"I have filled out the application to become a member and agent of the Preventers."   
  
The folder dropped, joining the forlorn pen on the table surface. Lady Une stared at her, at that timeless, ageless face. For what seemed to be minutes, they shared a hard look that didn't break till she turned away, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them.  
  
"Miss Catalonia, I have no idea where to begin." Defiance flaring up in her, Dorothy clasped her hands in her lap.  
  
"What do you mean?" Her tone was clipped, and Lady Une turned back to her.  
  
"I had not known you were thinking of joining."   
  
"I was not."  
  
"Then how did this come to be your decision?"  
  
"I simply decided it would be." Faltering, Lady Une groped for something to drag a more distinct reason from her.  
  
"Have you really thought this through, Miss Catalonia?" Dorothy leapt from her seat, still managing to leave her expression blank and controlled. Leaning forward, she dug the palms of her hands into the table.  
  
"Yes, I have." Lady Une raised her head to meet the girl's eyes.  
  
"I see." Dorothy watched her tensely, dismissing the idea of sitting down again the moment it entered her mind.  
  
Lady Une cleared her throat, finding the heat of that intense stare unneeded.  
  
"I am only surprised to here this; don't take offense to what I have said." She fingered the edges of the manila folder, the corners of her mouth turned up. "But, with some thought, I can guess, and understand, some of your reasons."   
  
Looking up, she noted that Dorothy had taken a step back, though remained close enough to the desk.  
  
"Did you have any thoughts as to what you would like to work in? Any preferences?"  
  
Smirking, the blonde flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder carelessly.  
  
"I am willing to start from the bottom and work up to where I want to be." But Lady Une shook her head, pushed the chair back and stood up, one hand on a hip.  
  
"You have much knowledge and many useful qualities that the Preventers can use; it would be a pure waste of your talents to assign you to a lower level4. But I am sure that I have something to your liking and ability; give me a moment." Dorothy nodded her approval, interested in what Lady Une would be able to bring out.  
  
Bending to a drawer in her desk, she pulled it open and leafed through, concentration straining at her to find something. Her hair softly falling over her shoulder, she flipped through till she found some possibilities.  
  
Straightening, Dorothy glanced at the small pile she had collected in her search. Lady Une lay them onto her desk, shuffling through till she had them in an order that appealed to her. Gesturing for Dorothy to take a seat once more, she herself sat down.  
  
"Take a look at these and give me your opinion." Dorothy grasped one sheet of paper, pulled it from the rest and began reading. Quietly thinking to herself, letting the silence spill in between them, she considered each carefully, at her leisure, weighing the choices in her mind.  
  
One had an opening on a council as advice administrator for a branch of the Preventers used as a battle tactics information center. Another was a chance to help at political conferences and work out of the limelight but with important personalities; the possibilites ranged from instructor to sergeant, guard to historian. But none peaked Dorothy's interest.   
  
She handed the papers back to Lady Une, allowing disappointment to spread across her face.  
  
"I am sorry to say that I'm not interested in those possibilities." She murmured distantly.  
  
"How peculiar. I thought these might be your style." She innerly cringed at it being dubbed her 'style.'  
  
An uncomfortable stillness settled in, soaking into their skin and muscle as they waited for ideas to come.  
  
Lady Une picked up a sheet of paper from the folder Dorothy had brought with her and began to read. Her chair creaked when her weight shifted, easing farther in to the stiff cushioning, perusing each line.   
  
Setting it down some minutes later, she halted, raised her eyebrows in thought. Next, she bent down to open a different drawer, pulled something else out. Regarding it with curiosity, she pushed aside the papers she had out before and slid this one along the surface of the table towards Dorothy.   
  
Snatching it up, she, as well, read it. A line of puzzlement built across her forehead; she glanced up to Lady Une, who waited expectantly for an answer at this last resort then went back to reading. Her eyes followed each letter, left to right, and back again.  
  
She didn't notice a finch's shadow flitter across the light from the window behind the Lady; when her foot moved and knocked over the briefcase, she didn't even pause her reading to react. Suspension strung through her, firing her mind.   
  
Several moments later, Dorothy's first, true smirk pulled at her lips and stretched it into appreciation. The hand holding the paper, stapled to some other applications and gripped tightly between her fingers, floated to her knee.  
  
"Yes." Lady Une nodded with satisfaction, her eyes bright.   
  
"I admit, I'm glad." She picked up the pen and gave it Dorothy.  
"You sign in only three places; fill every blank space out, please."   
  
While Dorothy did was told, Lady Une explained some points to the job she would soon take on; she was to live in the Preventers Headquarters, traveling only on business. Her rooms were new, but not furnished; she could only have a limited amount of luggage brought in, though. Except for at times of privacy and leisure, she was to wear a professional suit made for her position. Under her charge she would lead, direct and teach perhaps fifty employees, most newly admitted to the organization.  
  
"...and you will have to attend the first conference on the Vice Foreign Minister's campaign traveling across Cinq. It's only the first, not too far from here, but surveys show it will be the most publicly watched. You are to be a representative of the Preventers and your branch.   
  
"Truthfully, I would've gone if it had been crucial; this will be for appearances and assurances to the people only, though - on our part, anyway - so I won't. Since your tasks can wait, the entire position only recently brought into working order, this can fit into your schedule easily."  
  
Dorothy reached down for her suitcase and shut the copies of her contract into it, the beat of her heart a costant thrum in her ears and neck. Few questions were asked before she took her leave; a schedule would be rung up and delivered to her once she was settled in.  
  
It had happened, and she didn't feel a seed of remorse or spite for herself or what she had done begin to grow. Following directions to receive her wardrobe, she silently marveled at having gotten this far in less than a couple of weeks....  
  
  
A tense hush, broken only by the patched hum of muted, lowered voices, had spanned over the crowd seated in the open green of Memorial Park. Set above the heads of people was the stage, created overnight and patrioticly clothed in Cinq's flags and banners, the bunting draped elaborately over the edge, on which sat perhaps thirty chairs and two podiums, one on the left and one on the right. At the moment, the stage was unoccupied, leaving the audience to find their seats and ready themselves.  
  
Behind the crowd and around the stage, cameras had been stationed and the different teams of crew men from the Media were finding the ideal place to camp out and film.   
  
Though the stage had been added on for this event, and would be taken down after, the park was really just the area behind the Capitol Building; the stage linked to it, and behind the doors leading inside where the slightly anxious politicians and representatives.   
  
Relena was one of them. Though a melancholy mood had settled into her, the usual feeling of nervousness had taken to her stomach once more. Fanning herself with the notecards on which was her speech, she glanced around for some friendly faces to stand by with; finding none, she began to pace the length of the backstage area, the small heels of her shoes rythmiticaly clacking against the wooden boards.   
  
She was to review the recent events that had taken place to start this trip for her and her ministers, then list some of the actions taken and prophesized by the Nigerian terrorist group, and so on. A lengthy speech, she didn't trust herself to peek out of the curtains at the faces swimming out there, as she had before.  
  
Turning on her heel to head the other way again, she caught sight of an all-to-familiar head walking from her. With hastened steps she managed to come alongside her, and, discovering that it was really the person she had hoped for, smiled a little to herself.  
  
"Good morning, Dorothy." The blonde stopped, and Relena quickly searched over the different uniform she was wearing.  
  
"Good morning, Miss Relena." The blue eyes peered at her, the lips pressing into a curt smile. Sweeping towards her, Relena perceived the impression Dorothy was enjoying her role, whatever it was.  
  
"I see you are uncertain today." Her smile, though not sympathetic, let a touch of cynical humor come through, "Show them your elegant smile, Miss Relena."   
  
The familiarity of that line! Dorothy brushed one hand against her hip, dragging the fingers along the embroidered hem of her dark green jacket. Relena thought she looked much more impressive in the knee-high, black leather boots and green clothing than in her usual wear; she hoped Dorothy's decision, however quick, had been the right one to make her look as devious as she did.  
  
Relena reached up with one hand to push away a small coil of hair, but found none. Having to remind herself of her hairstyle, she let the hand drop.  
  
"I will." Smiling, she continued, "Dorothy, what are you doing here? I didn't think the Preventers would send you here as a representative."   
  
"You should read your reports a little more thoroughly, Miss Relena." A coy touch added onto Dorothy's smile. "I am the agent mentioned and referred to as 'Cat.'"  
  
Relena's smile grew wider. She glanced around at the people surrounding them.  
  
"Do you know anyone here?" Dorothy nonchalantly craned her neck to see around, eyes flashing from face to face.  
  
"Only a few; Io and Davis, some others who I would like to overlook, and..." She let the sentence trail off, her expression dubious and clouded. Relena would have asked her to explain if someone hadn't come up to her elbow and asked for assistance.   
  
She apologized and broke away from the blonde, hurrying to one of the rooms the stage connected to, leaving Dorothy to stew with herself.   
  
Glancing over her shoulder at the disappearing presence of Relena, she again searched the faces to make she hadn't made a mistake.  
  
She hadn't. He was here, for some reason.   
  
A predator's waiting look on her, she slowly meandered toward a group of people, hands clasped behind her back. Her boots making dull thuds on the floor boards, she came to them as unexpectedly as possible.  
  
"Good morning, Mister Winner." Her tone was expressionless, and Quatra let his true surprise flood his smile. He extended a hand, eyes fixed on hers.   
  
"Hello, Miss Catalonia." He gestured to the man who he had been talking to, who was now studying Dorothy's countenance with interest.  
  
Dorothy turned to him, nodding a greeting, and shook hands with him as well. Quatra excused himself from the man and glanced back at Dorothy.  
  
"I had no idea-"  
  
"A recent arrangement, Mister Winner."  
  
"You joined the Preventers?" He asked, a mixture of interest and question in the way he glanced over her suit. "I never saw that coming."   
  
"Neither did I." They began to walk down the corridor, past small groups of people murmuring with each other, talking about whatever came to mind. She explained as much as she could about what she had done, leaving out anything that could be counted as a personal reason. But Quatra seemed to see right through every evasion he countered by her.  
  
Each door they went by had been closed, locked. When they came to one that wasn't, Quatra bent down to close it himself. But he paused when he had taken a brief look inside.   
  
Peering down the hall, right and left, he opened the door a little wider. Sticking his head in, Dorothy could only raise her eyebrows and wait. And when he quietly slipped past the door, she only shrugged and followed, not quite wanting to leave the conversation right then.   
  
It was a large, closet-like area where instruments were stored; cellos, a piano, the needed pieces of an orchestra. All were in cases, slightly dusty, but well-kept. Quatra wandered around the room, not noticing the thick, dead air that hadn't been circulated in years, or the way Dorothy just kept back, close to the door, which he had partially shut at coming in.   
  
There was only one window; it had an amazingly thick layer of grime on the glass panes, muddying the view, letting the sun shine through in haziness and highlighting each swirling mite of dust. The ground was concrete, old, and Quatra's shoes sounded dainty to her ears with each step he took on it.   
  
Funny, really. Dorothy shook herself, diverting her eyes from the slim shoulders to the door. Though cramped and unclean, this little place seemed complete with him in it, even comfortable. For some reason, beyond her minds' ability to tell why, she liked it. She liked the tranquility he brought with him.   
  
Biting her lip, she stared out of the crack into the hall, and, seeing a shadow come towards them, silently shut it with one hand. Quatra looked to be in his element; she didn't feel in the mood to disturb him.   
  
Now, the dark mellowed any sharpness an object had possessed when they first entered; all was soft and curved. Tired of her guard over the door, Dorothy left and took to Quatra's side, looking over his shoulder. He didn't notice, his alertness having been canceled by the warm familiarity of everything in the room.   
  
She bent over his shoulder, her hair slipping and falling from her back to graze his arm, and set her mouth near his ear. Now he noticed, jerking back a little, but she only gave herself a small smile. Her breath blew onto his neck, and he glanced back at her, puzzled. At seeing her intently watching his hands near an instruments' case, he turned back, his lips pulling upward in a happy grin again.  
  
"It's a violin." He stated softly. She nodded, and he felt her chin bump against his shoulder. If he had turned, she would've seen a small blush grow across his cheek, but he kept himself from doing so. With both hands, he clicked open the case, his grin growing at seeing the violin revealed.   
  
But he didn't move past that. Dorothy, still close, pulled a little more forward till he could feel the right side of her body lightly pressed against his back.   
  
She reached forward with an arm, guiding his hand to the neck of the instrument, and lay it there, her hand over his.  
  
"No one is going to stop you, Mister Winner." She breathed, retreating to the left and giving him room. Bewildered, he looked up at her, tilting his head slightly. But she only gave him a smile, one that he couldn't unravel and translate into emotions. She urged him on with a nod of her head, her encouraging smile still there.   
  
Licking his bottom lip, Quatra pushed a curl of hair behind his ear and further stared at the violin. Then, picking up the bow, he wrapped his fingers around it meekly and laid it under his chin. Even before the bow had touched the strings, they hummed to him. They hummed so pleasantly, so gently.  
  
Closing his eyes till his eyelashes shadowed his line of sight, brushing against his cheek, he played. Dorothy listened without a word, leaning her weight against a table, her hands grasping the edges to keep her balance. The silence only made the notes of the violin seem all the sweeter; although she had known Quatra had much musical talent, she hadn't ever heard him play.   
  
Now, in a small room just three feet from his side, she was glad to hear this now. Rising and falling, the sounds hung in the air for the shortest of moments before vanishing. When her nose itched, she kept herself from sneezing, anxious that it would hurt the delicacy in which Quatra released the voice of the violin. Anything to keep it going.   
  
The dust settled, a tiny, extremely thin layer coating her suit. Her hands felt numb from being frozen in the same position for so long, and she couldn't tell just how much time had passed. She was sure they would have to leave soon, make an appearance with the rest on the stage. But she couldn't leave right then.  
  
Let them wait.  
  
  
I wrote this with a friend in mind; for you, Juu-chan! Good gourd, I can just picture Dorothy putting the moves on Quatre - for her to be able to do that something normal to them both had to be put in there. The instruments came right in handy, ne?  
  
Please review! (Bribes of marzipan await). 


	8. Ch.8 Informing

Disclaimer: I only own the things I've invented for this fic, nothing else.  
  
  
  
  
Relena stepped up to the podium, smiling quickly as a signal for the audience to stop clapping. Resuming the collected, to-the-point composure of a politician, she launched the start of the campaign with the thought of Anne Nibolga and her classmates in Montreal in mind.   
  
Behind her, sitting, where the people who were there to speak or had simply come to make appearances. Dorothy sat next to a business CEO from L1 in the second row, to the right; Quatre had found a seat in the back, to the left.  
  
If it weren't for the sound of Relena's voice, now blaring out of loudspeakers positioned around the perimeter of the park, one would've been able to hear the click of cameras and focused mutterings of people.   
  
But Relena didn't hear any of it. She was only able to hear what she spoke, delving, believing in her words, hoping that the faces she saw where believing her. Delivering her speech was only difficult up to the point were she began; once she did, her mind took a paint brush and, in wide, open strokes, pieced together a painting depicting the true, heartfelt meaning of what she said so earnestly.   
  
The minutes slipped by; ten, twenty, thirty, all flew out of reach, and yet, she continued. She had gone much longer than this and still held the interest of people. Knowing fully well her abilities, she again stressed an important factor, of the weight her words carried.   
  
Inside, she was battling the nauseau sweeping through her, clogging her nose, making her lips dry. Not daring to raise a hand to her head, she told herself to tolerate the pounding; stopping would only break the concentration she had gained through preparation and faith. Her cold hadn't reached a turning point; it seemed to intend as much havoc on her as it could. Relena wondered if her voice sounded any different due to her nose.  
  
Finding that her mouth was forming the last few words, she took the notecards in her hand and, when she stopped and the applauding began, left them on a shelf under the podium.   
  
Denna was most likely in Mrs. Duboses' class, taking notes while watching this, readying herself for the report due two days from then. Or she would be, once the time difference was scaled. She knew because her teacher had told her of the paper to be written on the speeches given; she would begin that as soon as she could. Till then, she had to give the public a smile.  
  
Next up, Minister Davis. After such an emotional flow of words, sensibility and a matter-of-fact sense of duty was needed to strike a balance.   
  
The glory of sitting down. Relena sank into the thin padding, earning a glance or two her way. Overhead, the sun hadn't yet climbed the entire length of the sky. Finding the direct sharpness of the sun's light disruptive, she lowered her eyelids and blinked. Why were there children in the first row?  
  
The hours didn't vanish as quickly as they seemed to have had when she was speaking. Uncrossing her legs again, she searched the audience for someone she knew. It was extremely rare when she did, but it kept her a little busy. The children, two little boys, bothered her, though. Who would take seven and eight year olds to political meetings? They must've been bored; the youngest was slumping in his seat.   
  
And next to both was the mother; she knew this because this woman had the same skin tone and shape of face as her sons. Yet she sat straight, dressed in starched, conservative black. Though wary, she was very elegant.  
  
Moving on, she found no one to ponder about or recognize. Returning her attention to the speaker, she found that Davis had sat back down and had been replaced by one of the representatives of L3.   
  
It was odd she hadn't noticed that; the podium, the first, was directly in front of her. Someone else was already occupying the second; that meant they were nearly half-way through.  
  
Still, her head went on pounding, a pain trying to crack her skull...  
  
  
The trip lasted little under three weeks, to give them time to recooperate between flights and stops, but to the campaign it seemed much longer. Each day stretched on teasingly, adding hours where there were only supposed to be so many.   
  
Relena insisted on the schedule planned for; if she stopped for rests and check-ups with doctors, the trip would be slowed. She didn't want to be sick in front of so many people depending on her and these people, so her illness was kept between them.   
  
All the while, the Nigerian terrorists had ascended to a new level; they were above bombing and public threatening. Now, they were inviting unpleased people from the African countries surrounding Nigeria to join them. The groups' population was increasing rapidly till it held a monopoly in several other countries. It had been building on peoples' false or twisted views on the governments; now, it was expanding on them.  
  
Back in the capital of Cinq, Lady Une kept on housing Heero. He didn't seem ready to leave. She assigned him some other duties involving the growing complexity of the Nigerian case; his abilities were extremely useful to her.   
  
Duo, though, intended on returning to the flat. He had caught a plane and was, supposedly, already seated in Heero's home, waiting his friends' return.   
  
Wufei and Dorothy began to communicate on a regular basis, despite their indifference toward each other; since their work was related, they often had to team up on some jobs. As stiff as Wufei seemed, Dorothy enjoyed the moments when she triumphed in some small argument.   
  
During Relena's absence from Montreal, Lark kept taking notes for her in hopes that she would return sooner than said. It was already known to her that she was going to fail her semester grades; too many absences from school. To graduate, she was going to have to either take an extra semester during the summer or next year. But she wasn't going to graduate with the rest of her class.   
  
All this was extremely apparent to Relena; in moments of nervousness she was reminded of it. Banishing these thoughts was becoming difficult; but, as was the pact, she wasn't going to give up. She was going to have to finish the year as best she could before leaving for good.   
  
She never quite wanted to think that much ahead.   
  
  
  
Ah, a whole moment of rest. And this couch was extremely comfortable; she sunk right in while her body relaxed. Slinging an arm over her face, covering her eyes from the light, she let a tired smile pull at her mouth.  
  
The day was over.   
  
A hand reached over and patted her shoulder.  
  
"We're leaving for the Hotel, Miss Peacecraft." Nodding, she pulled her arm away and propped herself on her elbows, glancing at her shoes. Swinging her legs to the floor, she sat up somewhat dizzily and nodded again. Time to walk to that door, with the rest of her waiting party.  
  
Eyes widening suddenly, she quickly brought a hand over her mouth when something bubbled up in her throat; coughing violently, she waved away assistance.  
  
"I'm fine, give me just a moment..." She wheezed. Hands dropped from her shoulders; clearing her throat quickly, she stood up and gave the floor a small smile. "I'm fine."  
  
Minister Davis had begun to tap her foot on the marble floor; she was cross and cranky with the day now past. Not that she would vent on anyone present, though.  
  
Licking her lips, Relena walked forward. One week left; how slowly the time had creeped pass, sapping her of the capability of mental sureness. She wondered briefly how things were doing in the capital of Cinq; her home, in a way. As long as she was a government official of her rank, she would live there and inhabit the mansion.   
  
Now ushered into the car, they moved rapidly down the deserted road while the falling sun threw sharp beams of light into their eyes. Relena turned away, into the shadows, and leaned her head against the cushions of her seat.  
  
When they had pulled up to the hotel, she was helped out. Since she had left the stage just two hours before, it had grown much cooler and, glancing around for her jacket, she picked it off the seat when a flashback hit her; it was odd, really, to think of Heero's arm around her shoulders when she hadn't remembered the moment at any time before. Pulling the jacket on, she wished he would escort her to the door as he had to the limo.   
  
Even in his gruff manner she found comfort. How ironic.   
  
  
Dorothy pulled the plans from the table and rolled them up neatly, placing them back under her desk. She stretched her arms, her tired hands itching to avoid using pencils till the cramps wore out, and rubbed her lower back. She shouldn't have slumped as she had.  
  
With a last look-over of her office, she exited and locked the door. Patting the pocket in which she had dropped the key, she turned on her heel and strode down the hall. The lounge would be uninhabited at the hour; noon had come and gone and with it, midday break. She had been at her work for the entire morning; things like that deserved an exclusion of the rules.  
  
Turning sharply, she barely noted the dull squeak of her boots on the floor when her hand was on the doorknob; brushing past someone who was leaving, she shut the door behind her quietly.   
  
The lounge was a large, well-lit, open room looking over the Preventers' main entrance to the building through ceiling-to-floor windows. But, as with the usual attire of lounges universally, it shared the traits of worn use; dark blue, sink-in chairs and two long couches dotted the area.   
  
Standing with a cup of something in his hand was Quatre, who had gotten up at Dorothy's entrance. Nodding, he greeted her warmly; she replied so with cordiality, her eyes loosing some of the unyielding cold she had built up.  
  
"How have you been, Mister Winner?" She asked, her voice emotionless. She took out some change from her pocket, counting it out by feel while staring at her guest.  
  
"I'm doing very well, thank you." He smiled, motioning to the styrofoam cup in his hand. "Capuccino?"  
  
"I think so."   
  
He watched with peculiar observance as she trotted to the vending machine, punched in the letters needed and waiting. Her blonde hair poured over her figure when she bent over to retrieve the cup, now steaming. Glancing over her shoulder, she keenly stared at Quatre till the latter dropped his eyes and concentrated on the chairs.   
  
Seating herself opposite him, she set her cup on the coffee table.   
  
"Chess?" Quatre's head snapped up. He had been rubbing the sides of the styrofoam cup gently while waiting for her, occasionally stealing gazes at the tips of his shoes.   
  
Now, the malice and frequent hostility she kept had been eroded, chipped and scratched at till it could only sustain enough to warn others of her character. The rift that kept them wondering about each other wasn't that wide, after all. He nodded, a smile gracing his eyes again.  
  
She bent down, taking the board and pieces from the shelf below the coffee table, placing them on the table surface. Flipping some hair over her shoulder, she lay the pieces out in front of them.  
  
"Black or white?"  
  
"White, please." She handed him the small, velvet satchel of black game pieces before starting to put her white ones on their designated places.   
  
She moved her knight forward first, thoughtfully letting her nails tap the nub of wood before pulling back and glancing at Quatre's face expectantly.   
  
He was staring at her, then turned to the board. A sheet of acidity and calculative perception had pulled over her, dousing her with an excitement he took for competition. She was a highly competitive person, of course.   
  
But, he remembered, at irregular intervals she could let that wane away and smile.  
  
He pushed a pawn ahead. His hand curled under his chin, propping it up from falling to his knee or even the table edge. The way he studied the board made Dorothy smirk; it was going to be a long game - and she picked her bishop as her next move.  
  
"How are the Preventers for you, Miss Catalonia?" He asked quietly, still summing up possible moves that he could make. Dorothy didn't look up; like him, she kept her eyes on the board.  
  
"Occasionally, boring..." She watched him move his rook before picking up her knight again. "But I rather like it."   
  
"I'm glad to hear that." He said earnestly, tapping a finger on the table surface.   
  
"And how is the corporation, Mister Winner?" Quatre grinned, pushing another pawn forward with a manicured nail.  
  
"Extremely well; I'm surprised that, with the sudden economic downfall due to some setbacks with the Terraforming project, I haven't been pressed to do anything drastic with the business." Dorothy clicked her tongue against her teeth, seeking a possible way to one of Quatre's bishops.   
  
"Good..." Quatre picked up the styrofoam cup again and quietly drank while waiting for Dorothy to make her move.  
  
"Have you seen Chang Wufei?" He asked absently. Dorothy shrugged, her arm stopping in midreach.  
  
"I occasionally work with him. Our assignments resemble each other, since we both work in the same branch of the Preventers." Quatre raised his eyebrows, barely visible as he tipped his head back to catch the last of the coffee.  
  
"Is he hard to get along with?" He asked, curious as to how the two personalities would interact. Dorothy smiled her dangerous smile, a predator's smile, and her eyes flashed.   
  
"He can be short-tempered." Quatre smiled and, unknown to him, a dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth. Dorothy stared at him in odd fascination, her upper body bent over, one hand on a pawn, and the smirk trickled from her face till it had disappeared.  
  
"I see." Quatre murmured. "Have you decided on your move?"  
  
Dorothy quickly pushed forward a pawn.  
  
  
Lark jerked the shoulder strap of her bookbag closer to her neck, glancing around for a gap in traffic. The traffic lights were taking too long, in her opinion, and she needed to be home by five.  
  
Finally, a short intervension. In hasty little steps she sprinted between cars. When one honked at her, she slowed enough to earn herself a dirty look from the driver. Grinning briefly, she dodged parked cars before leaping to the sidewalk.  
  
She was on one of the main streets where, crowded together snuggly, were boutiques and cafés. Lining the walk where she stood was Panera's and some other shops, but she didn't take notice of them. Kicking her skirt straight, she was about to continue her walk home when someone knocked on the glass.   
  
With an irritated 'humph' she fixed her eyes on Panera's; one of the customers, hazy since the sun was shining against the window, was now waving at her. Frowning, she looked down at her wristwatch; 3:42. She could spare some time.  
  
Panera's was a comfortable, warm little nook that had changed with time, as had many places throughout the years. Now, it held no more than thirty-five people, exluding the chairs and tables outside. Normally, it was filled with the quiet thrum of voices, the smell of baking bread wrapping itself comfortingly around a person.   
  
This time was no different; Lark squeezed by a single obese couple before looking around for whoever had signaled for her.   
  
"Charlie Brown, are you blind??"   
  
Oh, dear lord, no.  
  
Lark sharply twisted to the left, her frown darkening. She hadn't the patience for this now, not now.   
  
But she walked to where Denna sat, drinking out of a massive white china cup. Nodding her head in greeting, she climbed into one of the chairs, built on tall poles of crafted wood. Letting her bookbag fall heavily to the ground, she gave a tired sigh. Denna shot an eyebrow up, regarding her musingly while playing with the stiff, spiked tips of her now-purple hair.   
  
"Is something wrong, Oscar?" Lark glowered at her from where she had sunk her head into her arms.  
  
"No, I'm just exhausted." Denna glanced down at what she had been carrying and leaned back with an expression of extreme amusement, the large cup held tightly in her hand.  
  
"My, aren't you busy."   
  
"It's two days before winter vacation; every teacher worked at least one test into their schedule."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes." Lark snarled. "That teacher is a lecherous minion of the administration; he told us today he moved the English exam a whole day earlier."   
  
Denna shrugged.  
  
"You'll live. By the way," She held up the mug, "Could you get me a refill?" Lark pulled back in an effort to ease the ache above her shoulder blades.  
  
"Come again?" She asked.   
  
"A refill?" Denna grinned impishly. "Just order a double-double with french vanilla."   
  
" 'Double-double?'" Lark's tone was becoming peeved.  
  
"Instead of just a two, it has four shots of espresso."   
  
"What? You'll be up past midnight on this!" Denna frowned good-naturedly and reached over to pat Lark on the head.  
  
"Darling, that's the point. Now, be a good one and get it for me." Lark raised half her lip in bitter annoyance. Denna exhaled deeply, adding, "I guess that's a 'no way.' Well, I have to study, too. Look." She pointed down at her feet, since her toes did reach the floor, at her backpack.  
  
Now feeling satisfaction, Lark gurgled happily in what seemed to be a laugh laughed behind hands pressing down on one's mouth. She swung her legs, making her skirt wrap around them once more but that went unnoticed. After a few silent moments, she decided on a change of topic.  
  
"With two days left, one would think the students to be half-crazed with studying, but, No! the little maggots are crawling around and squeaking so self-righteously about that Davis woman's talking and the other-"  
  
"Lark, not another word, I've heard enough about the female Peacecraft diplomat and Minister Davis." Denna spat, boredom thickening her voice. "Too much politics on an empty stomach."  
  
"I meant the predictions of flash floods in the spring of the northeastern portion of Cinq." Lark thought for a moment before adding, "She's been in the news too much, lately. It's for a just cause, but I'd rather here about the terrorists' point of view on this. It would be rather interesting."  
  
There was a pause in which Denna's thoughtful expression grew into one of studiousness. She snapped forward suddenly, nearly upsetting the coffee cup at her elbow.  
  
"There are two kinds of antagonists of the sort that have a motive," Denna held one finger in front of Lark's face, "The first is the kind that has no concrete belief in what they're doing but do it for various reasons anyway," She held up a second finger, waving both, "And the last is the kind that believes in it all and thinks they are working for the better of mankind."   
  
Denna tilted her head to regard the ceiling where it met a corner, a rare expression of unveiled solemness spreading to her eyes.  
  
"The latter is usually the most frightening; if their mind is set on that, they won't give up."   
  
  
This is just to keep all informed at what the various characters are doing. I'm sorry that most of this concentrated on two people that were invented to smooth the way; it feels like being cheated out of a part, I know. But, after this, too much is going to have to focus on Relena to do anything else. Thanks!  
  
Please review!! 


	9. Ch.9 A Dress

Disclaimer: *Hisses* I'll probably meet an ifrit before I own   
GW, and it's common knowledge.  
  
Arabian Nights had a lot of mentioning of Ifrits. It's a cool word.  
  
  
  
Before, dreams had always been full and clear; now, only fragments of them remained in her minds' eye; little reeling bits and pictures that broke off with time into even smaller, less distinct shards. Every morning, she spent five minutes sitting on her bed in deep thought, her legs hanging over the mattress, wondering about why she had a strange, dense feeling padding her stomach.   
  
Dreams had always been used, in writing, in poetry, in peoples' minds, to further a foreboding presence or to explain something. This was incomprehensible and tangled with the sweat of sleep; Relena couldn't make out any sense in it at all.   
  
So, usually with a soft, groggy exhale of air, she would climb out of bed and trot into the bathroom to brush her teeth - morning breath not being a pretty thing. Then, she would trot back to her room to dress, and so on.   
  
Over her breakfast of toast, she attempted focusing her eyes on an assignment in order to finish it. Ignoring the crumbs that scattered over her lap with each bite and blinking repeatedly, she scrawled the answer to the problem and only hoped it wasn't as much a guess as she thought it was.  
  
Still mulling over the feeling of having had a dream, she licked the last of the toast from her fingers before shutting the book and her folders, slipping them into her backpack. With the back of her hand she wiped her eyes, willing herself into a more alert state.   
  
7:05. She had some time left.   
  
Gathering up her things - backpack, coat - and setting these next to the door, she sank into the sofa one more time. Till she had to leave she wouldn't try to finish anything; since her leave those three weeks ago, she had managed to scrape together enough time to get the bulk of her work done. Now, only a few things were left over, and these would have to be turned in as late.  
  
Snuffling, she pulled a tissue from her pocket. Her cold hadn't worsened, but it wasn't getting better. And all she seemed to be drinking was Elmwood tea, her remaining diet existing of bread and oatmeal. She hadn't felt this close to physically miserable in years.   
  
Tenderly brushing the tissue against her raw nostrils, she wished she had taken some medicine, some drug, during the past few weeks. At seeing a television clip of one of her speeches, she could tell she didn't look all that well - make-up and expert lighting couldn't always keep things hidden. The bags under her eyes were enough to send her to bed.  
  
Cramming the crumpled tissue back into her pocket Relena suppressed a yawn. She'd have to get to that later. It was already 7:20, just the time when she was supposed to head off.   
  
Pulling on her coat and shouldering her bookbag, she stretched her neck at feeling a cool current of air slip by. The morning was drab, the sky still maturing from its' muddled gray, night-blue state. There was unusually little traffic, and a drunk on the street corner had collapsed in his place, an empty bottle still gripped in his hand.  
  
Relena, after locking the door, rubbed the unevenly edged side of the keys with her thumb for a moment, staring down the street toward her school. These were the last few weeks of December; on returning just yesterday, she was still recovering from the jet-lag.   
  
Cinq was colder now then in Montreal; it was a mild winter, with the snow turning into gray, slushy banks hugging the edges of the street. Crisp, the air around her blew the hair into her face again, reminding her to start walking. Pulling out a shawl from deep in her coats' pocket, she wound it around her neck.  
  
Having turned in her leather shoes for boots, she tramped along till the stairs of Linden came close enough for her to hop up. As had become habit, she tapped the toes of her feet against the last step, letting whatever mush that had latched onto her shoes during the walk fall, and entered the building.   
  
Recognizing several faces, she smiled thinly at anyone who greeted her. With the dry weather her lips had become cracked, bleeding whenever she stretched them too much. Finding her locker, she shed the outer clothing and was about to put away the unnecessaries when someone slapped her on the back, making her reel forward with a strong cough.  
  
"Hey, Lena, it's good to see you again!" Denna said cheerfully, wagging her head from side to side in emphasis.   
  
"Good morning, Denna." Relena happily responded, her tone warm. The tall girl ran a hand through her hair, now without gel, unspiked, and dyed a flaming orange. Denna hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her pants, as orange as her hair, and grinned.  
  
"You certainly missed out."  
  
"I did?"   
  
"Oh yeah." Relena hugged some text books to herself and raised a questioning glance to Denna's eyes.  
  
"What would you mean with that?" Relena asked, one hand sliding to her throat in case she coughed again.  
  
"I found an old flapper's costume in my Nana's closet." A feral grin wrapped around Denna's face, her eyes sparkling. "You wouldn't believe the shocked expressions at that Winter fling the school had when I came in."  
  
Indeed, it was wonderful to be back, if only for a little while.   
  
"It's good to here." She said, smiling gently. Denna leaned against the lockers, her head tilted to the left.   
  
"What happened to you?" She asked, losing all pretense of a jokester. Relena set her bookbag on the ground against her shins, fingers digging into her palm. No lying here, she had no need to lie.   
  
"My cold came back during my trip."  
  
"It doesn't seem as if you did anything for it." Denna said evenly.  
  
"I was a little too busy to worry much." Relena responded, if flatly. She didn't need interrogating, even something as peaceful and friendly as this. In truth, she knew it was only worry that had made the questions well up and tumble from her friends' mouth. "But I am going to see a doctor this week."  
  
"Good." Denna shook her head; earrings - tiny disco balls- flew and twinkled at her earlobes. "You're cold can't be why you look so tired."  
  
It couldn't be that obvious, that plain. Relena, a little stricken, raised a hand to her cheek and touched it with her fingertips; she was exhausted, mentally strained. It wasn't that she felt as feverish as she did sluggish. Her hands moved clumsily, as did her legs. Each step made her rock back on her heels, trying to win over the tiny fits of shaky dizziness, and all she could do was continue as she had been to beat it.  
  
Slamming the locker shut, Relena shouldered her backpack with her eyes on the floor.  
  
"I have to meet with the principal, Denna, I will see you in class."  
  
  
"Have a seat, Miss Burg." The principal waved a hand toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, scanning through a folder of papers that he had retrieved from a cabinet when she had come in. Relena glanced around a second too long only to remember that it was her name he had spoken. Hurriedly setting her bookbag on the ground, she took a seat and waited, hands under her knees - the office was unexpectedly cold, and her hands were becoming stiff.   
  
"Now, according to the records, you have missed nearly twenty days of school." Relena nodded though the principal still had his head bent over the papers. "If you miss ten, you automatically fail unless you have a reasonable excuse. In your case, we should already be discussing summer school."   
  
Though she knew he wasn't trying to purposefully make her feel incapable, he succeeded in doing so anyway. Mentally chiding herself, she knew it was only because he had a duty to the students that he was doing this.  
  
"Preferrably, I would talk to you and your parents about this situation; but since they aren't easily reached, I will have to do what I can." His stern eyes met hers abruptly. "But I will have to call them, and somehow, I hadn't received their numbers. "  
  
Leaning forward, he handed her a packet of papers, which Relena began to sift through as he continued.  
  
"Please write the numbers down. If it weren't for the suddenness of this, we would set up the transmission immediately, but, since they have had no warning of a meeting, we will have to set the date for sometime later." Picking at an eraser, the Principal added, "And we still have your grades to go through. Have you finished all the homework assignments?"  
  
"Not entirely." The principal shook his head slowly, preventing himself from moaning.   
  
"When, do you think, will you?"  
  
"In two days I can hand the rest in."   
  
"You are aware that this won't help your grades?"  
  
"Quite."   
  
"Are you ready for the exams?" Bowing her head, Relena gazed at her knees for a moment in serious consideration of drawing them to her and wrapping her arms around them, but forced herself to look up that second.  
  
"Truthfully, no, not really."  
  
"They are this week and we can't change the date of yours alone to accomodate your schedule." Relena nodded.  
  
"I understand; I've already told my teachers beforehand that I would be taking them with the class."   
  
"Good." Letting the eraser fall, the principal stared at her openly. "May I assume you know that you have failed this semester?"   
  
"Yes, I know this very well."   
  
"Good. Now, you're dismissed; go to your classes, you've only missed fifteen minutes."  
  
  
"What a nightmare." She mumbled to herself, unable to keep up the limited supply of optimism she had at hand, her shoulders drooping and feet dragging as she walked, scraping against the concrete sidewalk. Hands limply hanging at her sides, she only wished she were home, in the kitchen, with warm salt water to clear her sinuses and more tea.  
  
A brisk, dry gale flattened her hair against her head, making it stream out behind her, and she licked her lips at the feeling of moisture being sucked out of her face. Rubbing her thumb against her index finger, the wool of her mits warming them, she trodded along without an alert sense to warn her of anything.  
  
She jumped when someone's hand patted her head, a hand hugged by thick, rubbery gloves.   
  
"Good afternoon, Miss Burg." Denna grumbled loudly, spoken in a guttural voice. Relena's smile quickly found room on her face; it was a near-perfect immitation of Misses Dubose, the teacher with which Denna waged verbal wars all too often.  
  
Stopping, she waited for Denna's stride to take her to her side before speaking.  
  
"I didn't know you lived in this area."  
  
"I don't."  
  
"But then, why are you walking along here?" Denna grinned, her cheeks rosy from the cold, and swung her arms at her sides in circles.  
  
"I felt like stalking you, and anyway, I have to go pick something up."   
  
"Oh." Relena pushed back the sleeve of her coat and glanced at her wristwatch. "May I join you?" Other than work, she had no plans; Relena felt as if a quick recess from it all would be of great help at the moment.  
  
"Sure, I'd like you to see it." Denna picked up her walk again, making Relena nearly skip in order to keep up. "Have you ever been to 'Second Splits?'"  
  
"No. What is it?"  
  
"A thrift store."   
  
"Is it nearby?"  
  
"Only a few blocks from where we're standing." Denna kicked a trail of slush from the sidewalk as they passed by. "I enjoy it there a lot; the manager even knows me now. I'm a frequent customer."  
  
Relena grinned at the indirect explanation this gave for Denna's sense of style.  
  
"I see." Denna began to whistle, but quit after she found her throat in want for a drink, making her voice sound like that of a bull frog's.   
  
"Splits was a place I found when I first came to live with Harriet; I had wanted to explore the area, and came upon the place in a half hour. I think I spent the entire afternoon there, just browsing."  
  
"Is Harriet a relative you're staying with?"  
  
"My grandmother from my father's side." Relena's eyes took on a form of surprise, her mouth conforming into an 'o.'  
  
"I'm sorry I did not know, you never told me and I did not ask."   
  
"Don't worry." Denna said with a wave of her gloved hand. "You wouldn't have recognized her as my grandmother, anyway; she's so shrunken and wiry, I don't resemble her in the least."   
  
Turning a corner, they almost ran into a low-posted sign with 'Second Splits' splashed across it in flaking paint, once a jade green. It was next to a tight little door with creaky hinges; the store didn't even have a window for its' merchandise.   
  
But Denna entered without a thought, shaking her head, slipping the earmuffs off her head, boxing her ears to warm them, stomping her boots to rid them of the mush of leftover snow. Relena unwrapped the shawl from her neck, her interest and curiosity winning over, and stuffed it into a pocket along with her mittens.  
  
They were in a cramped corridor that only had three doors; the last two seemed to be restrooms. The first must have been the entrance.  
  
Denna held the first door open, bent at the waist, one hand held out to the interior of the room.  
  
"You first." She said, eyes glowing at the prospect of prowling the racks and stands inside. Relena stepped in pensively, wondering where her friend had led her; but she only had taken three steps when she felt as if she had to stop in order to take the sight in.  
  
Displayed in rich, colorful abundance clothes had been stacked, packed into, hung, and folded, varying from different styles to the many materials used. Everything was sorted into general categories - long-sleeved shirts, gloves, jackets - but other than that it was a chaotic scene that seemed to go through perhaps three rooms. Studding the walls like posters were masks and hats as well as the occasional, ankle-length coat and or glitzy gown; raised on platforms around the room were shoes, boots, pumps; hung or folded into large racks were the rest.   
  
Denna marched to the cashier's booth, tucked away into a corner, and began conversing with the person in charge at the moment, not quite argueing but inching to it, leaving Relena to explore.  
  
Wandering through, Relena took down a hat, glancing it over in awe; the brim reached out maybe a foot, floppy, limp, a simple ribbon of blue around the crown. Placing it back onto the hook it had been on, she went on to study others; some were of a style she guessed to have come from the early 1930's; others she couldn't quite place with their oddities and ornaments.   
  
Continueing, she went from one room to the next, each morphing into something entirely different from the first; though still splashed with color and sparkle, dangling and hanging in organized racks, it had no category other than 'Formal wear' to go under. Ranging from a large assortment of wedding dresses to prom clothing, she spent several minutes searching through.  
  
"Your daddy don't dance and your mama don't rock and roll!" Denna crowed, making Relena jump at her sudden presence. Looking over her shoulder, she nearly tripped over her own feet at seeing Denna in a showgirl's suit. Setting on the beaded headdress that completed the get-up, Denna strolled to where Relena stood, rooted.   
  
"Isn't that right?" She asked, her expression coy. Relena covered her mouth with one hand, not wanting to cough onto her.   
  
"Well-"  
  
"Positively shocking, yes?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Wonderful." Fists on her hips, Denna stared up at the racks of formals Relena had been sorting through. "Found anything to try on?"  
  
"No, but I was only curious-"  
  
"Let me pick something out for you." Denna reached up with one long arm and picked through, Relena off to the side, feeling slightly sheepish.   
  
"Try this." She ordered, holding out a hanger. Relena's stare locked onto Denna's.  
  
"I'm most likely not going to buy anything, though." She said, perplexed.  
  
"That's not the fun part. Just try it."  
  
"Denna-"  
  
"Humor me, please." A few moments of wordless challenging went on, Relena softly shaking her head at her friends' persistence. Denna gently rattled the hanger close to her face, making the dress flick from side to side. "Please?"   
  
Relena peered into her eyes; it was only a few minutes. Uncrossing her arms, she reluctantly curled her hand around the hanger, a submissive, if pleased smile crossing over her mouth.  
  
"Alright, but after this, I will have to leave."  
  
"Fine. The changing booths are in the last room; I'll show you."   
  
Relena let herself be led to a stall where she was pushed into, the curtain flying shut behind her.  
  
Now, enclosed in the darker, enclosed space, Relena stood for a few moments in paralyzed silence. Glancing around, she found a full-length mirror to her left, recording each move she made and displaying them all so proudly.   
  
Slipping her sweater from her head, she let this fall onto a stool that was in the corner. Next came her shirt, topped by her pants, and she unhooked the dress from its' hanger, unzipping the back and slipping it up her legs.   
  
The cloth, at first looking to be thick, was gentle and surprisingly light; she had no effort or use to pull at the sleeves when her arms needed a way through. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she zipped it up, feeling the loose material close around her torso and tighten, falling from her hips in wide, natural plaits.  
  
Twisting around, she stared dumbly at the reflection the mirror generously showed her, the tiny transformation illustrated as an enormous step in her mind. In the dark, the stark white of the outfit seemed to glow; even though it came inches above her knees, it still seemed conservative.   
  
Raising her arms and turning, she watched the back of the dress drop to display her shoulder blades, but no more. Picking up her hair in one large handful, she poised, feeling not much different other than vaguely surprised.   
  
"How long will this take, Lena dear??" Denna yelled, her tone that of puzzled boredom. Quickly stepping out of the self-woven trance, Relena pushed back the heavy curtain, blinking at the light.   
  
"Lord, that looks good." Denna hopped up from her crouched seat on the floor, placing her hands on Relena's hips in private critizism. "You could wear this to prom."  
  
"Prom?" Since when had she planned on going to prom?  
  
"Of course."   
  
"I don't think I'm-"  
  
"No hat, though, that would ruin the angel effect."  
  
"'Angel effect?'"  
  
"Hasn't anyone told you?" Denna pulled a dramaticly elaborated hat from its' hook on the wall, yanking it over her head and winking one eye at Relena, the brim hanging into her face, darkening a large portion, a wild array of rare birds' feathers arranged around the crown and tide tightly with a transparent gold ribbon. "White on a light skin color gives that person an angel's effect; there are always exceptions, but that's been my experience."  
  
Relena picked at the skirt impatiently.  
  
"Denna, I sincerely doubt-"  
  
"The square neckline is riske, but made modest by the near knee-length of the skirt. The bodice is snuggly wrapped around the waist," Denna explained, sounding much like a professor, with her hands soothing small creases in the fabric, "But the wide straps balance that out sweetly. The fact that it's white just makes it all the better; white, non-shine cloth adds to the overall effect."   
  
Relena picked Denna's hands off her shoulders - now straightening the straps - and gave a large, slightly frustrated sigh.  
  
"Denna, I am most likely not going to the prom."  
  
"But I am." Denna tilted her head in thought. "Wouldn't that make sense to accompany me?"  
  
Relena thought back to Minister Io; he had hinted at her leaving before graduation with the excuse that her parents wanted her home again. Her stay abroad was waning to an end.  
  
Shrugging, she didn't say anything; instead, she continued to pick at the smooth fabric of the skirt. It was pretty.  
  
Denna expertly took her hand and twirled Relena in a circle, keeping her on her toes.   
  
"It could be fun; perhaps Charlie Brown would come."   
  
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Relena smiled, eyes knit closed. Irritation at Denna was imminent and hard to shun; but it was beyond easy to slip off.  
  
"Only if forced." She said jokingly. Denna smiled, adding a demonic tint to the quirk of her lips. She grabbed the brim of her hat and tipped it.  
  
"That could be accomplished. She's a formidable little grouch, but I could overpower her." Nudging her in the ribs, she added, "How about it, accomplice?"   
  
Relena grinned, finding the jibe harmless.   
  
"I think I need to change." Denna found a three-way mirror and began to model with the hat, pulling it into the strangest of positions on her head. She nodded quickly at Relena's retreating form.  
  
"Go ahead, I'll wait."   
  
Pulling the curtain back into place, Relena leaned against the wall, wringing her hands lightly. Prom? Mayhap - depending on the time the event would be scheduled in.   
  
Cocking her head to the side, she watched her reflection shimmer as the skirt of the dress shifted around her legs, finding nooks to fold into and lay against. Yet again, the glowing of the fabric in the dark caught her off-guard; pushing off the wall, she could imagine herself somewhere where the lighting resembled this. Turning around in a circle, arms raised, her eyes slid to her legs and bare feet, then back up from her thighs and waist to her shoulders.   
  
Angel effect. She disliked the sound of it; it was too close to being called an angel, a title given to her in the tabloids - very rarely, since she was only a politician - and it clashed with many aspects of her personality. It sounded self-indulgent, for some reason.   
  
Once again finding herself standing in front of the mirror, Relena leaned in, pressing her palms against the glass; watching her pupils change size, she formed a small, private smile.   
  
Not bad.  
  
  
I have been wanting to write this for the longest time; but this impenetrable wall of what felt to be mud lay between me and finishing this. It was disappointing to have not gotten it done sooner.Ah well; I just hope the characters are staying in the boundaries of their personalities - and that the added ones aren't involved too much, though I don't have much choice about that, especially now.   
  
  
Please review! 


	10. Ch.10 Bad times for All

Disclaimer: *Snigger* Yeah right.  
  
*Before anything is begun, let me just say that I expect Misses Duboses' time at the school to last no more than three years, tops. I like to think of her as the proper term given to the definition of 'an old dinosaur.'   
  
  
  
Compared to the dolorous moods of the weeks before, Relena felt rather light-hearted. At that moment, she was leaning over the edge of her desk minutes before her first class, trying to keep from tipping over, rapidly exchanging 'good morning''s and 'good luck''s with the girl next to her - Misses Dubose had tucked that last day before winter break into her calendar, marking it as the time for her class' first semester final exams.   
  
The disposition of the entire classroom, once hazy with a student's early-time-of-the-day rosiness, immediately tumbled into a dumbfounded silence once Lea Tiffer streaked into the room, both hands held over her face, sobbing. As if on cue, two of her friends pulled up out of their seats with a dramatic gasp, their arms jerking around her shaking form with a merciful, yet marionette-like quality.   
  
To forgoe the tears and broken, blubbered-out pieces of speech Lea hiccoughed, nearly everyone kept their attention on her and their eyes to the door, grimly eager in what would spring up next.  
  
The moment she had run into the room some quiet commotion had erupted in the background, in the corridor. Some students, forgetting their true age and limping back to elementary, creeped close to the door and, hushing non-existent whispers, crouching in knee-cramping positions, tried to listen for some sign as to what was happening. Hands spread on the wood, ears pressed against it in thin hope of some enlightening, they nearly reeled backward in astonishment at hearing footsteps coming their way so soon.   
  
Jogging back a few steps, they returned to their seats, drumming thumbs and palms against the surfaces of their desks in slight impatience.  
  
Yet again, only broken bits of a conversation flopped into the room, like the tiny, soggy chunks of a fish one didn't gut correctly.   
  
Relena glanced at Lea again; red-eyed, she insisted on having the tears flow continuously, mopping at them with a tissue. Not entirely sure of what could be done for her - Lea's friends took care of any soothing she needed - she turned back to the front of the room, one hand pulling gently at a strand of hair, calm expectancy in her actions.  
  
"The last thing I would have expected of you is this." Ah. The stern, yet unusually high-strung tone of Misses Duboses voice came through to them just before the door swung open, revealing an irate teacher counting the days to her retirement and an uncontrolled, angry student hanging by her grip at the elbow. Lark.  
  
Silently brooding, Lark gazed out at the rug. She had nothing to say, not trying to yank her arm from Misses Duboses' hand. At hearing a stiffled sniffle, she quickly looked up and at Lea, her eyes narrowing into a steamed glare.  
  
Her tiny hands balled into fists, but she didn't make a move. It was as if she had rooted herself to the ground she stood on in dimming efforts of gaining some dignity for herself.   
  
Relena sat upright in her chair, giving her friend an unreadable expression. When Lark didn't react to her convincing stare, she again glanced back at Lea, hoping for some clue.  
  
Black. A black, nearly undistinguishable ring was appearing around Lea's lower eyelid, lightly outlined with dark purple. She only caught a glimpse of it before the usually pompous girl pulled her shoulders up around her chin and turned away.  
  
" Come along, Lea Tiffer." Miss Dubose turned and stalked from the class, the blonde following half-heartedly. When they had left and the door was shut firmly, most broke into a frenzied game of guessing. Everyone hoped the person next to them had cracked the waning mystery, already quite obvious; some questioned if a scuffle had been heard before Lea had run in while others insisted it was so.   
  
Relena sunk into her chair, unusually tightlipped, answering blankly when someone asked her a question. She might have been one of the closest to Lark, but she could not come up with a reason of why her friend had done what she did. Leaving it to her classmates imagination, she turned to her own inner thoughts.   
  
Formidable grouch, indeed. Lark had always been frighteningly keen on the reactions and meanings of everyone surrounding her; but, with this came extreme sensitivity, if one hadn't guessed that already. That she wouldn't shrug off the oppertunity for a physical lash-out if crossed wrongly was apparent to Relena; what could have pushed her to do such a thing? After a few minutes of mulling through possible explanations she settled for the chance of calling her that night.   
  
If Denna were there, she would have had tried her luck stabbing at the little mystery and probably could have come up with something believable. But she had left; she was most likely just beginning the plane flight to Cinq, in order to spend the vacations and New Years' Eve with her family. Her mother had commanded her to come one day early so as to ease into the different time zones with less difficulty.   
  
Her eyes resting on the clock set above the chalkboard, Relena shook her head gently.   
  
It was not even 8:15 yet.  
  
  
Dorothy expertly flashed her card at the guard, nodding slightly. With the new regulations she needed proof of her identity at all times so as to move around the base freely. It had become a habit of keeping the little ID in a pocket inside her jacket; with her status as Head Battle actics engineer, as the formal term was much too long for one tongue alone, she could enter and exit nearly any area of the Preventers' main at will. A freedom she had innerly expected to come alongside the job, Dorothy took it into her hand casually.   
  
Stepping inside the little lounge, Dorothy slipped her coat off and hung it over her arm, darting tiny sideglances around for useful signs. Finding it to be nothing more than a girl's study, she waited for her host to come in.  
  
Wheeling in herself slowly, Mariemaia smiled politely, gesturing to a chair. With a quiet greeting Dorothy took a seat, crossing her feet over each other once she was comfortable.  
  
"Good morning, Miss Mariemaia." Dorothy said, her tone soft and guarded.   
  
"I would not have thought you to ever become a Preventers' agent." Mariemaia spread her hands over the knees of the blanket thrown across her lap nonchalantly. "I am surprised I didn't hear this beforehand."   
  
A grin ghosted across Dorothy's mouth, breaking the ice.   
  
Mariemaia pulled a blue-and-white checkered board up.  
  
"Chess?" Dorothy leaned back, tilting her head up slightly, eyes distant.   
  
"Not today, thank you; I've had my fill of the game."   
  
"Really?" Mariemaia offered her an inquisitive glance which Dorothy overlooked. "May I know with whom?"  
  
Bringing her head and eyes back to level with the girl's, Dorothy shrugged.  
  
"Mister Winner had the grace to set aside a few hours; it ended as being a prolonged game due to our skill's being nearly even." That she would admit that proved one thing alone; that she saw in Quatra an equal.  
  
"Mister Winner?" Her surprise quickly turing coy, Mariemaia pushed the board away. "Well."   
  
Peering at the packed bookshelves and writing desk, Dorothy pursed her lips.  
  
"It is a fair day outside, Miss Mariemaia; shall we visit the gardens?"   
  
Eagerness jumped to the girl's eyes and Dorothy saw herself mirrored in them in more ways than one.   
  
"I would gladly join you, if it is no trouble."  
  
"None at all." Standing up, Dorothy added, "Dress warmly, it is cold."   
  
With help from a maid, Mariemaia slipped on a coat, shawl, gloves and into a hardier wheelchair; tucked in around her lap and legs were thicker blankets while she pulled on a wool hat. Dorothy found delight in that it was a more childish hat, with a little ball of knit wool bobbing on top.  
  
Grabbing hold of the handlebars, Dorothy stepped outside again, showing the ID card to the guard once more as a reassurance. Having spread her fame nearly everywhere, she found that the ID was becoming unneeded; odd that her countenance was so well known in a place such as this and nearly forgotten by the rest - not that she minded this at all.   
  
December in Cinq was not beautiful, but mesmerizing, especially when the scenery was left untouched. Virtually no one entered the gardens at the back of the residence that time of year, the ice-stiffened branches of rose vines and branches macabre, the glazed, spiked blades of grass giving one the image of little knives shining in a direct beam of sunlight.   
  
Following one path of many snaking through the grounds, Dorothy and Mariemaia silently watched the occasional leaf, the last, break off a tree's twigs, brittle as aged paper, and the frozen buds of flowers that had bloomed too early or too late, now frosted over with a film of ice.   
  
Breathing out large clouds of cold air, Mariemaia sometimes pointed to something and they would stop to observe it, studying whatever had snagged their attention with the sobriety of students. The tracks of a rabbit in the frost on the ground, perhaps.  
  
"Is winter your favorite season?" Mariemaia asked, her voice an unexpected sound in the frigid air around them. Dorothy tilted her head forward, leaning over till her chin was close to the girl's ear, her eyes latched onto a spider web that had been frozen into a network of silver lace.   
  
"I can't choose favorite, Miss Mariemaia; but it is one of the times I am most comfortable outside." Mariemaia nodded happily; she understood this all too well.   
  
A few minutes later she suddenly reached toward the sky, pointing hurriedly with one gloved finger upward. Straining, she kept her arm in front of her, locking her elbow to keep it from faltering.  
  
Dorothy peered up wordlessly at what she was her bodyweight into showing her.   
  
What she saw was the moon, out early, blissfully white, one eye shut as if winking. Set into the gray sky, the contrast was catching.   
  
So for a few moments they stood silently watching the shadows slowly change over the surface of the moon, highlighting some craters, while ignoring others.  
  
  
"Sorry!" Slam the locker, get out of there, run, run.   
  
Or so it seemed everyone was thinking. A unanimous thought racing through each mind, along with the teachers, either with their head on their desks in stark relief of the emptying hallways or standing in the doors, watching their pupils leave with distant, unfocused eyes - they, too, were thinking of the freedom reached in less than an hour.  
  
The stragglers were either shoved or piled out of the way with elbows, knees, feet, hands and tongue. Some, not quite caring about the physical state of others, decided to bulldoze through the crowd, creating much argueing and flopping bodies.   
  
Altogether, it was an excitingly chaotic scene.  
  
Relena thought it best to stay behind till it all cleared, or at least to wait for a visible path to the door to appear. She waved farewells to several classmates, already waning from her sight and tumbling out with the rest.   
  
Had she passed her finals for the first semester? Probably. But a passing grade was not always a good grade; it would be enough to carry her through to the next, though. Had she thought of Lark at any particular time that day? Absolutely. She still intended on calling her that evening, after she packed - her flight to Cinq had already been prepared.   
  
Christmas, and New Years. It was close to yet another year coming to its' end. Though she would be busy, the two weeks quite jammed, Relena looked forward to returning. Nails scraping against the wall, she looked out across the hall at the few people left, already being herded out by insistent teachers.   
  
Joining their mumbling ranks, she held onto the strap of her bookbag against her shoulder, knowing the shove to come at the door.   
  
  
  
Of course, packing carry-on was simple for her; all she needed were the immediate necessities and a change of clothing for emergencies. Tiny aches weaving through the muscles of her back, she stretched once before launching into the assignment. Most of her luggage consisted of homework she needed to take with her, anyway.   
  
It had been a nice change, a welcoming one, to not have to lie through clenched teeth about where she was going to. It was understandable and not at all surprising for her to go to her parents over break. Most had added sympathizing, reassuring smiles when she had told them that.  
  
The miniature was packed and zipped up; all she had to do was remember to take it with her. A taxi would come by at seven; her plane left at 8:30. In four days, the yearly Christmas event would take place - New Years followed, though without the added grandeur.  
  
It was not even five o'clock then. Outside, it had warmed a little; Relena, eyes slanting in thought, reached up with one hand to tap her chin. She hadn't taken a walk for some time; there was enough to do, and she needed to move - she felt strangely energized, restless, but in good way.  
  
Glancing at her luggage, Relena remembered the call she had promised herself to make. Leaving her room, she trotted to the first floor and pressed Lark's number into the buttons on the phone. At the first ring an voice picked up and said ," Gable family, may I know who this is?".  
  
"Hello, I am Lena Burg, Lark's friend. May I talk with her?" Relena hoped the voice would let her; it sounded feminine. Most likely Lark's mother.   
  
The voice gave a sigh that, simply from the way it breathed through to Relena's ear, was unfamiliar with the character of the person. This person didn't usually sigh or gave signs of tiredness. Relena's hope flickered.  
  
"I'm sorry, but she won't be able to come to the phone. Can I give her a message?"   
  
"Yes; please tell her that I'll call when I'm back, before school starts again." After a moment she added ,"And tell her to have a good Christmas."   
  
"I will, thank you. Good bye."  
  
"Good bye." She hung up, turned away. So, her friend was unreachable; not feeling much surprise, Relena set about her short trip outside.   
  
Some weeks before, out of curiosity, she had attempted fixing her hair into a braid falling from her forehead down her back. It took several tries before she had it tight enough; even then, it looked a little strange - from any other person's point of view, bangs and a large braid was a little much. But, since it made her appearance different, Relena again braided her hair carefully.  
  
On top of that went a hat; next, she pulled on her shoes, gloves and a lighter coat. In a mirror she checked the look she had created for herself; satisfied, Relena found that her reflection was one of a perfectly normal girl.   
  
Deciding on the park, she trekked through new snowy mush, across the street, and headed northwest. The trees there were old, gnarled things whose roots had upsetted entire sections of pathway; the grass lay matted and brown around. The entrances, set in the four corners of the park, each had their share of vendors - even in winter, some could be seen harking their ovenroasted chestnuts and a small variety of warm drinks.   
  
Relena, at finding some loose change in one of her jackets' pockets, bought a bag of chestnuts and contendedly wandered around the park, silently chewing. Her thoughts ambled ahead of her like children, and before she knew it, she had taken a set of paths to the right, turning so at each fork.  
  
Rubbing a hot chestnut between her fingers, she stopped to lean against a squat tree whose trunk was larger than the coffee table in her living room. It's branches sprawled out like an octopus turned over, as thick around as her hips were wide. Though relatively small, this tree was massive; she nearly tripped over a burly root that had heaved itself out of the ground upon leaving.  
  
Patting the trunk's hide, she trotted off, pausing to throw away the now-empty paper bag that had held the chestnuts. A glance at her watch told her she had an hour before needing to be at the airport.   
  
A taxi would take her there; she didn't want to walk all the way back now. At least there were numerous services for transportation; continueing her walk she headed for a mall across the street.   
  
Montreal's shopping centers were unlike many - some, anyway - that she had seen. Large communities of walking space and boutiques, stores and stands filled with people. One didn't necessarily need to be shopping to enjoy oneself there.   
  
Stepping onto the platform of an escalator, she was brought up the second story. Melding with the mass of people assembled, she saw signs for sales in nearly every store window; she had momentarily forgotten it was so close to the holidays.   
  
Did she need anything for anybody? No. She wasn't close enough to many people to give them gifts; the people she was close to were too far away or 'unreachable.' For herself; a sweater, perhaps. She had accidentally shrunk some of her sweaters in the experimenting days of washing her own clothes for the first time.  
  
In that case, socks would be a nice accessory as well.   
  
  
  
  
Not much happens here at all; not much happened in the other chapters either, but this time, really nothing happened. It was a 'filler'; I felt sorry for all the characters, each finding themselves in their own sort of pity - a depression, one could say. *Swoons*  
  
Please review, commentary is appreciated!! 


	11. Ch.11 Dishing up thoughts

Disclaimer: GW belongs as much to the rats as it does to me - namely, none of it.  
  
Some surprises are up ahead - additional characters, for one. ^_^  
  
Jooles, thank you, you're wonderful!  
  
  
  
Relena waved for a taxi, slightly frantic. She had lost track of time shopping, suddenly having found that it was too close to six o'clock for her not to run to the curb. But a small discovery had been made; she disliked shopping. It was a hassle, or at least seemed to be before a holiday such as Christmas. Shoving and pushing herself through the crowd like a zealot was not the ideal way for her to spend her time.  
  
A cab pulled up and she climbed into the back seat, pulling behind her the things had bought. Quick directions were given; they were off. Relena, in a need of something for her fingers to do, took out the sweater she had gotten and gnawed the tags off. Once finished with this, she set it back inside its bag, pulling out another sweater to de-tag.  
  
By the time the cab came to a halt beside her little house she had finished with the de-tagging and, requesting the driver to give her a moment's time, gotten out to trot up the steps. Having already made the preparations for her return to Cinq, all she did now was place the sweaters on her couch in the living room and grab the suitcase.  
  
Her hand stroked the doorknob once she was outside and had locked the door.  
  
Two weeks and a few odd days. Just two weeks.  
  
In a way, she didn't want to leave. Looking up, she could see Lena's shadow through a lighted window, moving closer to shut the blinds. They had separated at the door frame, becoming two opposite people; the shadow, born of her imagination, waned as she realized she was staring at darkened glass panes.  
  
Turning away, Relena gripped her suitcase in one hand and the key in the other. Stuffing it in the pocket of her coat, she exhaled slowly.  
  
She was going home. As much as one sliver of her being wanted to stay and play pretend - fore that was what she was doing - the rest simply wanted to be where it was needed, where it liked to be.  
  
Stepping away from the door, she slipped back into the cab, giving the man their next destination before falling back into her thoughtful trance. She didn't see any of the buildings lining the street melt into road; her eyes concentrated on the tiny garbage compartment at the base of the driver's seat. How it would be of any use down there she didn't know.  
  
Often she had wondered if she could have become anything but a politician. Of course, she wasn't the only who wondered. But it was a natural thing for any human mind to do; the human mind reasoned, thought out, rebelled against. Her mind put out suggestions as show, yet none seemed befitting of her character.  
  
An odd thing to say; a Politician was universally hated. They were categorized under the same labeling as lawyers, woven into jokes as much as any president.  
  
And yet, the only other position she thought she could hold other than that of a politician was that of a philanthropist; there was truly no reason for her inheritance to rot in a bank - especially now that the war was over.  
  
When her personality was displayed, her faults lined up, her flaws paraded around, and her good points shown, she couldn't channel a likeness of her into the job of another and still pin her face to that form.  
  
A politician she was, when it came down to it; Relena was not entirely sure if this was a good thing. But she knew so many who wouldn't face what others saw in their eyes without trying - rather she cringed while knowing the purporse of her self than not.  
  
And the road didn't end. Moving but not seeing, Relena watched vaguely the cab speed past clumps of uprooted grass and bits of gravel. The road didn't end.  
  
  
  
"Io, please, I have to handle this." Please? Davis never said please.  
  
"Don't beg; it's surprisingly unbecoming." Minister Io said this earnestly, without the least hint of cynicism in his voice. That was his way; honest and straight-forth. A surprising trait for a politician; than again, he was family oriented.  
  
"I can not possibly come to this gala event, I-"  
  
"It is expected of every official of Darlian's cabinet and each member of the Earth Sphere United Nation to come." Now, he had moved from earnest to borderline sterness. Davis' hands fell at her sides, but in exhasperation.  
  
"Darlian pulls off the stunt much better than I can."  
  
"Stunt?"  
  
"Yes, stunt." Io hid his indignancy well.  
  
"What she does is no stunt; everything she says or does there is for a purpose - she doesn't charm without focus." Davis' lips stressed into a thin line and she tipped back, leaning her whole upper body weight against the wall.  
  
"Fine. Fine, I'll come." Grudgingly, of course. The resentment wouldn't shine through - she wouldn't let it - but inner snideness at such fancied-up public events made her feel sour as of that moment.  
  
"Now then," Io straightened his tie and swung around, "I have to meet an official from China; Mister Pyang, I think."  
  
"The old goat?"  
  
"The young one." Davis gave a barking laugh.  
  
"He's worse."  
  
"I know."  
  
  
  
Relena bent down, her knees bumping against the side of the bed as she lowered herself to the ground. The dress, her dress, had been spread in all of its' holy glory over the bed's span so as not to wrinkle the material of the skirt or bodice .  
  
Stroking it with her palm, her other hand keeping the top flaps of her bathrobe closed, she wondered how the evening would go. Would she be able to shake hands and at least attempt a two minute conversation per person there? Would anyone want to simply talk with her, even if it were about weather?  
  
Would she be able to change some minds? Make allies?  
  
It was such an odd thing to have race through one's mind, how such an evening could possibly mean so much. Christmas Eve had found her mind on other things than good cheer.  
  
A knock on the door brought her to her feet again. She flipped some wet, heavy hair over her shoulder, feeling it soak slowly through to her back in warm moistness.  
  
"Come in." Inside came two maids, too busy jotting things in their mind to pay much anxious attention to the young girl standing there; immediately, but with tact, they gathered her into their capable hands, pulling at her wet hair and setting her jewelry on the vanity.  
  
Hair was dried, piled up, gently formed into a tucked and pinned mass on the crown of her head. Through a full-view mirror she was able to see them busily work at her appearance, pins clenched between no-nonsense teeth. Nothing unnecessary, no frills; she was to strike a business-like, yet pleasant countenance that night and anything overdone would ruin the effect she was to have.  
  
On slid the dress, sinking in to her waist, folding around her legs, pressing lightly againt her shoulders. (Winter, and she had somehow gotten a sleeveless dress). It fell straight to the floor, elongating her entire person with its' length.  
  
Licking the corners of her mouth, she tasted the rather murky waxiness of lipstick coating her lips, all the while watching the maids now leaving, having done what they had needed to do. They were indeed quick, talented.  
  
What did this remind her of? Ah yes. Might as well not travel through time to that evening; left alone in front of the full-length mirror, the only thing keeping her from falling into a trance, making her own reflection a stranger to her eyes, she gripped her hands tightly, crushing the soft skin webbing between each finger.  
  
After a time she caved in to a shudder; how did it seem, to her inner mind, that she was acting so cold?  
  
Another, if more whimsical, question floated through; how could one be cold to their own person mirrored back to them through glass? A small mystery for a time-logged mind. And time was what she didn't have; admitting to herself that she was needed downstairs, Relena stood up, the stool pushed from her by the backs' of her knees.  
  
At least they hadn't needed to rent a ballroom for this year's Christmas event; last year, the preparations had been made weeks too late, rushing decorations, food, service, and stressing money sources. Being practical would serve well for later, though; at the moment, she needed to make her rounds among the important officials and significants weaving their way along the perimeter of the hall.  
  
On such a jovial evening, serious faces with business mouths met her. But she joined them in their game - some acting as if this were a game, some not. Waiters threaded through the crowd to each group, a platter balanced on one arm with edibles arranged on it. They, too, looked just as serious as the guests.  
  
Of course she would notice this.  
  
A blonde head passed among the crowd; a hushed whisper followed by a languid response made their way to her ears.  
  
Dorothy.  
  
She hadn't been here last year; most likely she now was for the Preventers, although Lady Une's responsibilities included this event in her list of duties. Perhaps both were here; that might make the evening smoother to pass.  
  
On her way to her old companion's side, Dorothy turned sharply, catching Relena's eye before she could give her greetings.  
  
"Miss Relena," Dorothy's eyes steadily searched her face, "You look ill."  
  
Yet Relena only felt relief; no intention of business, none at all. From Dorothy, that was best.  
  
Dorothy, at finding herself nearly sandwiched between two large men, nearly snorted on pushing her way through, one hand grabbing the long train of her dress to keep it from being trapped under a mislead foot or heel. Her hair warming her bare back, she gave Relena a stiff, cynical bow - if such a thing could be done.  
  
Her smile, though distant, was one of dry humor.  
  
"I am glad you came." Relena tilted her head to the side warmly. "Did Lady Une come as well?"  
  
"Yes, she did." Dorothy leaned in, her eyes taking on a rare, impish tone to them, "I have to say, Miss Relena, that you're parties are extremely dull."  
  
"Politics aren't a ballet." Relena replied, expression grave, but her eyes shining.  
  
"And yet politicians are ballerinas, constantly on uneven ground they have to tiptoe around." Dorothy waved her palm in the air carelessly, nearly upsetting the tray of a passing waiter. "Don't even try at fooling me with riddles; you know as well as I that I can deliver an answer to each."  
  
She wasn't one to argue the logic; from a landing, from a certain point of view, Dorothy had hit a truth.  
  
And her unyielding arrogance made Relena shake her head.  
  
Silence occupied the space between them as they watched the ever-changing courses each person took across the floor. Finally, Relena turned to her once again.  
  
"I am sorry not to have visited you at the Preventers' headquarters; how is the new position for you?"  
  
"I am enjoying it more than I should." Dorothy's mouth split into a grin.  
  
"Then I am glad to hear this." Dorothy's eyes strayed to the briefly aloof expression of Relena, instant, if vague interest taking hold.  
  
"And how have recent twists and turns been with you?"  
  
"Better than I thought they would be." Relena murmured half-heartedly.  
  
Dorothy, with a shrug, took a step back to critizingly scrutinize her clothing.  
  
"I never thought gray would befit a Pacifist." Her jibe made its' way clear to Relena's brain; Relena crossed her arms loosely across her chest.  
  
"I will discuss this with you later; right now, some of the members are gathered over there and I need to see them." Dorothy nodded, Relena left.  
  
She contended herself to move to the shadows near the walls and watch the packed crowd shift; soon, the dances would start up. Perhaps he would come; she doubted, though their honors were high, many assembled here could dance.  
  
  
  
Lady Une's eyes glinted keenly as she answered a question, one hand lighly holding a glass of wine. Though snow fell in thick blurs, everyone was warmed in the bright glow given off chandeliers, hung overhead in twinkling glory.  
  
"The music is starting." A hand was held up, waiting for hers. "Would you care to dance?"  
  
She held an arm out, a a grin stealing over her reserved face.  
  
"Of course, Mister Winner." Craning her neck over the heads of the crowd, she gave a short laugh. "Most are watching; they take their pride too seriously."  
  
Once on the outskirts of the dancing arena, Quatre cleared his throat kindly.  
  
"May I ask another question?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Is Heero Yuy really still at the Preventers?"  
  
"With no obvious intention of leaving, as well. I am hoping he might join, but he does not seem all that eager."  
  
Quatra licked his bottom lip in thought.  
  
"Would you call it confusion?"  
  
"Perhaps. But I would center it on feelings he admits to; maybe he is now wondering what else to do." Lady Une shrugged. "After all, he is doing nothing at the moment; something needs to keep him preoccupied, and he has not found it yet."  
  
Quatre's shoulders slumped.  
  
"That does not sound much different from what he was before."  
  
"Where you expecting a great change?" Lady Une asked with wonder.  
  
"In a way..."  
  
"If you don't mind me saying this," Lady Une said quietly, "You are quite the dreamer."  
  
Quatre only smiled at this, no offense having been taken on his part. They're conversation dulled then as the dancers churned around them, shoes clapping on the marble floor, the sounds muffled under the hems of dresses. Lady Une's eyes darted around for a quick moment, something registering in them as she took notice of some newly-found detail. Pressing her lips toegether quickly, she bent forward a little in order to whisper to Quatre.  
  
"I am so sorry, but I think I am needed. Would you excuse me?" Quatre, keeping himself from asking any questions, nodded kindly.  
  
"Of course. I hope we can keep pick this up later."  
  
"So do I, Mister Winner; thank you." He ushered her to the ring of the dance floor, squeezing her hand in farewell. Now stranded, he turned around and started walking aimlessly, greeting familiar people with a warm cordiality that was individually his; everyone smiled at the young boy, not looking to be old enough for them to call a young man yet, with friendliness.  
  
As he turned into a corner of the room where the crowd was thinner, now holding a wine glass in one hand, he nearly faltered in his trek. Standing rigidly was someone he knew all too well, and he was not entirely sure if what he felt at seeing this person was joy or not; shrugging the uncertainty of his feelings off, he moved closer.  
  
"Good evening." He said cheerfully. She flinched at the sudden sound of a voice when she had expected no one to come up behind her. Turning from the gathering, she faced Quatra and gave him a quick, bittersweet smile, bowing her head in a short curtsy as well.  
  
"Mister Winner, what a pleasure." Straightening, she eyed him with playful interest. "And-"  
  
A tall, gangly man was shoved back, making him topple over and into Dorothy, causing her to reel forward onto Quatre. He suddenly found his arms around her upper arms to keep her from falling while the man righted himself. The man immediately burst out worry.  
  
"I'm so sorry, a dancing couple tripped and bumped into me! Ma'am, are you alright?"  
  
Dorothy held a hand up in case the man wanted to say anything else, her attention quickly being diverted to something else while a pained expression slipped over her face.  
  
"I am fine, thank you for your concern." She said curtly. The man glanced at Quatre, mumbled another apology and moved on. Dorothy looked down at the train of her dress unhappily, still stiffly leaning on Quatre for support.  
  
He took hold of her arms, one hand on her shoulder. Her head snapped up to meet his kind gaze stubbornly.  
  
"Would you like to sit down?" He asked. Dorothy's mouth quavered, she glanced back down at her feet, and nodded. Quatre, after a short look around, led her to a few fold-out chairs on a balcony, gently lowering her onto one of them.  
  
She bent over and, pulling up the hem of her dress, scowled at her reddening ankle. Slipping the shoe off, she began to rub it roughly, her face working with differing expressions according to each passing emotion she felt. Quatre, after a moment of waiting, kneeled in front of her.  
  
Without looking at her, his eyes actually lowered, he brushed her hands off and took her ankle in his own, feeling it for anything serious with gentle proddings made with the tips of his fingers - although he doubted it was anything more than a small twist.  
  
He heard a grumpy sigh being let out above, all the while feeling the piercing stare of Dorothy run him through. Regardless of the uncomfortable silence that now decided to step in, he continued massaging her ankle till he felt it alright to let up.  
  
Releasing the ankle, he looked up at her, still in a kneeling position.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Yes. Thank you." Quatre struggled up and onto a chair next to her. Dorothy didn't slip back into her shoe.  
  
For a few minutes neither said anything; they did not really know what could be said, and their thoughts interfered with them ever getting anything across to the other verbally. So Dorothy looked to the sky for conversation; it was much more cooperative. Silence was its magnitude, what made it so great. No other silence was greater than that of the sky.  
  
  
  
The beating of his heart thudded noisily in his ears and Quatre soon realized something had to be spoken aloud for him not to become irritated with himself, of all things. He cleared his throat.  
  
But Dorothy beat him to it.  
  
"Did you know I visit Mariemaia often?" It was a statement put out in a questioning tone. Dorothy tilted her head to the side, never loosening her stare on the sky. "I myself do not know what pulled me to her so.  
  
"It is not all that amazing, really, but she is different. It is as if I'm drawn to her."  
  
Quatre leaned his elbows on his knees, now caught in the unintentionally-set net of Dorothy's words. He hadn't known her to be moved into speaking of herself so much - of anything personal, even if it touched base with nothing more than a friend, a dry topic.  
  
Dorothy's voice swung back towards him, directly addressing him.  
  
"Have you ever seen us talking?" He shook his head and she shrugged listlessly; his answer was not all that important.  
  
"She reminds me so much of myself. At that age." Quatre noticed with some concern that Dorothy's hands now clenched each other tightly. They hadn't a moment before, and he uneasily turned his eyes back at her distant ones. "It does surprise me how much I understand her; but much about her life resembles mine. Her childhood was spent with one parent, her mother. Mine, my father."  
  
She paused, exasperated, trying to find the correct wording for what she wanted to say.  
  
"I was brought up in the face of war and grew to understand it. That girl, given a few more years, would have, too. Our opinions of basic things are not that much different from the other, and she understands me surprisingly well." Dorothy grinded her teeth together once, sending a vulnerable glance over the edge of the balcony then back at the sky. 'Surprisingly well' did not quite cover her shock at the likeness she found in the comparison of herself and the girl.  
  
"But she has a future; she is smart. And even while I find things in which we are remarkably alike," Her voice turned flat, "She is naive in ways I can't describe.  
  
"She is given the chance to be a bit of a child, even though this child understands the currents of politics. She is allowed the misunderstandings, little mistakes made...I was not. And now, I do not know how..."  
  
She took in a quick draw of breath, eyes slipping into a traditionally cold stare.  
  
Dorothy's body suddenly vaulted upward as she shot to her feet, dress flapping around her legs, hands free, one clutching a shoe. Eyes a harsh steel gray in the dark, her mouth set in a grim line, jaw clenched, she threw that shoe over the balcony edge. It bounced off the banister roughly before springing down into the lawn below without a sound.  
  
Dorothy's arm then fell against her side, and her shoulders slumped.  
  
  
  
Quatre, during this time, had stayed in his seat, hands gripping the rail-thin armrests. But when Dorothy had jerked up to stand, if shakily, he had immediately stood up behind her. Eyebrows pulled in, he regarded the unmoving form with surprise.  
  
As an individual, he saw things in her he was not sure were open for viewing; she was an altogether confusing, sometimes belittling person, yet he could not help but like Dorothy.  
  
She did not react to his moving closer. When he was directly next to her, she didn't even turn away - as he had thought she would.  
  
Risk was involved. But giving a brief glance to her assured him the risk could be taken.  
  
  
  
Dorothy was thinking of losing the other shoe as well when a warm hand took hers in its grip, gentle but firm. Fingers clasped her palm, a thumb lay over the back of her hand. Glancing down, she found Quatre to be there, standing at her side. That was all she could think; he was more 'there' than he had been before. Now, they were almost linked at the hip as well; but Quatre did not look at her.  
  
Instead, he chose to gaze at the horizon, were the sun had long since fallen and darkness had already rusted to a stark black. Dorothy, feeling her exasperation melt into perplexed confusion, wrinkled her nose, glancing at Quatre and his hand around hers and back at his face.  
  
She nearly felt something snap inside of her.  
  
A tiny, all-to-familiar voice began shrieking.  
  
"Mister Winner," Her tone had grown unpleasantly crisp, "Please excuse my untimely outburst."  
  
Snapping her hand out of his hold, she lifted her chin a little and settled both arms against her sides, knowing that he had frozen in the position he stood in.  
  
"But your pity or worry does not give you the right to touch me in such a fashion."  
  
  
  
Hehehe. *Rubs hands together happily* She told him off, she told him off....  
  
Please review! 


	12. Ch.12 No joking in capture

Disclaimer: *bites disclaimer* GW doesn't belong to me.  
  
Enjoy!! (I had this part planned for months, I'm so glad it's finally up).  
  
  
  
Duo moaned, writhing. He pulled his aching arms around himself, blinking at the dim light through groggy eyes. When his sight had fully returned, he passed his fingers through his bangs; shaking his legs, he realized they were tingling with passing numbness. Glancing around, he saw the dank, dun-colored walls close in around him with not a window to shine sunlight through.   
  
This was not Heero's apartment. This was not the interior of a random store he had passed on the street what felt like moments before. Then, he had felt happy and alert - now, it was as if he had just woken up after sleeping for days. The feeling was nothing new to him, though, but not welcome. The mellowed, rounded sense of having only half of his mind anchored in reality made him shudder.   
  
Sitting up on his elbows, he glanced around a little more. A few lamps built securely into the wall offered light, if not much. Not far from his feet was a small table, and the shadow to his left was that of a rickety support acting as a bed, the mattress on it battered.  
  
Now a wave of alarm washed over him, making him struggle to his feet hastily, a brief moment of dizziness making his body quaver. He reached for the table and held onto its edge, eyes darting around to snatch up a clue as to where he was being held.  
  
Because he had been on the street before, in daylight, at around noon. He had his hands in his pockets at the time, his stomach just filled with a pretzel from a vendor, about to cross the street at a busy intersection.   
  
Surprisingly, he did not feel any pain other than the arm he had slept on for what he guessed to be the past few hours. Or perhaps it had been twisted in dumping him on the floor - maybe he had fallen from the bed and landed on it...  
  
A chair. Two chairs. Duo reached for the one closest, seating himself uneasily. He flattened his hands against the surface of the table for a moment, then formed them into fists to thump a beat from a song he knew on its edge. Eyebrows slanting over his eyes, attention consumed by his scarce surroundings, he did not realize he was beginning to hum to himself when someone knocked on the door.  
  
In his experience, there were two kinds of knocks to know; one was of force, acting as a signal someone was coming or as a way of telling the prisoner they were being too loud. These were usually rapid, harsh sounds. The other was a sequence of raps on the door in quick procession, used as a form of politeness.   
  
This was the latter of the two and Duo tensed in his seat, eyes fastened on the door with growing apprehension.  
  
At least they hadn't hurt him. He hated being someone's stress relief.   
  
Biting his lip, he remembered he had left Heero's apartment open. The key should be in the pocket of his coat - glancing around, he found his coat in a rumpled heap on the bed. They had let him keep it. How strange.  
  
The door was being unlocked. They had not stolen anything from him that he could see and they had not tied him up; hearing so many locks on the door made him reconsider the possibility of a sixty percent chance of escape in his favor. Much confidence must have been in the store of those minds for them to let him move around freely but use eight..no, ten locks on a heavy door.   
  
The door opened, revealing three people behind it. Duo squinted, finding the light they brought with it too bright. Of the three, only one person came into the room; this person, tall and of medium build, came forward with ease and sat himself opposite Duo.  
  
By then, the squinting had stopped.  
  
"Good afternoon." It was a man. A normal man with a normal, friendly voice. Duo crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair quietly, examing what he thought to be his opponent with critizism.   
  
"What am I doing here?" His voice cut through the pleasantness the stranger brought with him. Duo, under a guarded gaze, regarded this man with increasing bewilderment.   
  
The man gave him a grin and reached forward with his hand. Duo stared at it, slightly puzzled.   
  
"Don't worry, I only want to shake hands with you." Again, that normal, entirely trustworthy voice. After some consideration, Duo slowly reached forward as well, giving the hand a quick shake.   
  
"Hi." The man curled one hand into the other, propping his chin up on this and looking at Duo with reserved friendliness.  
  
"I must say," He mused aloud, "You are a talented fellow."   
  
Although Duo was slightly amused at being called a fellow, he kept a cold expression on his face.  
  
"How so?"   
  
"For a boy to smuggle such information out of the country is a talent I admire." Duo's eyebrows shot up as it hit him.  
  
He really should have thought of the chance of them finding his snooping in the last few months. Now they knew, and they knew of him. His name and physical appearance had been spread over every available space in the colonies; Earth must have been affected by this as well, receiving basic, but necessary information on the former Gundam pilots.   
  
"I see. What are you going to do with me?" The man smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth.  
  
"Nothing." Duo wrinkled his nose and turned his face to the side slightly, completely disbelieving.  
  
"You can't expect-"  
  
"It won't matter now; the information would have been released as soon as we came to the publics' eye. Although it did cost us a number of unexpected turns, our goal has not changed. And you," The man nodded approvingly, "Would have been in trouble if we had caught you a moment before this."  
  
Duo gave him a sudden glare.  
  
"'We?' 'Us?' 'Our'? Who do you mean?" The man shrugged.  
  
"I'm not able to give you any more information just yet. Wait a few more months for that and you will get it." He paused before continueing with, "And I have forgotten something. My name is-"  
  
"You're willing to give me your name?"  
  
"Of course." Duo's glare shifted to a satisfied smirk.  
  
"Fine." Idiot. The man cleared his throat.  
  
"My name is Mal Kash." Mal held up a hand quickly to silence any further questions. "I will not ask anything of you, don't worry."   
  
Duo bitterly broke in, his rash anger building up to a point where he could not stop himself.  
  
"If all you've got me here for is to stare at me, then this is a waste of time for the both of us." His voice hardened. "Let me go."   
  
Mal held his hands up in defense, shaking his head.   
  
"I can't do that either; right now, you are out of the reaches my power of rank holds." Duo leaned in, eyes gleaming; he knew persuasive ways of sucking things out of a person without letting them know his motives. Licking his bottom lip, he shrugged.   
  
"Rank. Mmmh." He slipped one hand into his pocket. "Interesting."   
  
Mal pulled back anxiously, watching Duo's hand disappear into the pockets of his pants. Duo couldn't help but slow down, letting a little tension build up in the easy manner of his host. Let him think he had some small, blow-up gadget hidden somewhere in the folds of his clothing; it was interesting watching the relatively dark-skinned Mal pale basing thoughts on something assumed.  
  
Heero would have laughed; he always said not to make assumptions and then go on them.   
  
Smirking, he pulled his hand out, fingers curled around an old deck of worn cards. Setting this on the table, he watched obvious relief seep into Mal's face, smoothing some worried wrinkles and bringing back a peaceful smile to his lips.   
  
"Poker, or a card trick?" He gave a short, kind-natured laugh. "You seem the joker to me."   
  
Duo began to shuffle expertly, whistling quietly. When he was satisfied with the needed chaos of cards, he began to deal them; eight each. After another moment of waiting, he glanced up into Mal's eyes, who was looking at him curiously.   
  
"Not Poker; Crazy Eights."   
  
Mal's smile turned into confusion, his nose wrinkling.  
  
"'Crazy Eights'?"   
  
"I'll teach you." But Duo sighed. "This must be a pure American game; I haven't found anyone else to play it with."   
  
With a shake of his head, Mal exclaimed with wonder, "I am beginning to see why you were chosen as a Gundam's pilot."  
  
Duo froze, a muscle in his cheek twitching as quick, hot anger ran lividly into his bones. Deathscythe Hell. He was Shinigami. This man was an enemy. Quick little things that hurtled through his mind as bits of gravel - tiny reminders.   
  
Coughing to clear his throat, Duo held his cards up as Mal took up his.  
  
"Here's how you play..." Duo instructed Mal through the first few leads of the game with the strict tone of a professor leading a class in a life-or-death political discussion, pointing out that this was a tame way of gambling and not a raging battle - Mal took it all to heart, studiously following his teacher's advice with cautiosness.   
  
Duo lay the eight of clubs down on the gathered heap of cards and claiming the next step to be that of a diamonds', he cleared his throat in a business man's manner.  
  
Mal was sorting through his many, many cards, unaware of the obvious glee in Duo's face.  
  
"So, Mal, how long am I going to be kept here?" Mal glanced over the edge of his cards at Duo's choice, chewing on the inside of his cheek.  
  
"Till our curiosity has been satisfied." Jerking his head up at a corner of the room, he added, "You must know already, but this place is being monitored by at least three people at all times. They'll let me know when I can leave and you can go."   
  
Duo let out a low whistle as Mal lay a three of diamonds down.  
  
"Then this is like a sport; I'm a type of entertainment."   
  
"Our version of Sixty Minutes." Mal muttered with a distant smile. Duo flicked a three of clubs to the cards before returning to his questioning.  
  
"You have too much time on your hands." Mal didn't make eye contact but, with a triumphant twist of the wrist, lay flat an eight of clubs down.  
  
"Change to...hearts." He shook his head. "Think what you want; I came here to meet you. You are quite famous, though rather unknown on Earth...the colonies are pretty keen on you, they have more to say, but us...we have never met any of you, even in combat."   
  
Five pilots. Five Gundams. Five piles of junk. Duo snarled at the cards in his hand before picking a card from the deck.   
  
He lay the five of hearts down.   
  
"I see," He grumbled, "But it's still hard to believe you would waste drugs on me as a whim."   
  
Mal chuckled at this.  
  
"Spirited, too. I think I would have really liked you," He looked up, the first time he ever made eye contact during that game with Duo, and smiled a little too quickly, "If it weren't for the fact we are on two different sides."   
  
Duo grinned, turning his nose up at him.  
  
"Oh, isn't that getting a little too specific?" He thumbed through his cards, staring cordially at Mal. "What were you part of during the war? A small branch of Romaefeller? White Fang? An unknown terrorist group?"   
  
Mal shrugged, rolling his neck uneasily.  
  
"None of them - and we aren't terrorists." He grumped. "Never were, either."   
  
Duo's eyebrows rose when he felt himself getting a rise out of the relatively cool man.  
  
"I dare say you are indignant now. You don't call executing the head officials of the Nigerian-"  
  
"Let's not move to that topic of conversation." Mal growled, suddenly grinding his teeth together impatiently. "All I, all we, want is a way to spread truth through the country. Nigeria has been beaten down too much; so have many other countries, and their people.  
  
"I truly believe that what I have done to uphold the values and beliefs of this organization was for the good of others - even if what you think is that what I have done is wrong and elaborately radical."   
  
"You read my mind, kind Sir," Duo crowed, his voice taking on a tone of sly craftiness, "I do think that!"   
  
Mal opened his mouth, eyes wide with disbelief, and seemed to be about to say something when Duo slammed his cards facedown on the table and rose, slamming his chair into the wall.  
  
"If you know so much, than you must know that what I've seen, along with what I have done, has nearly killed me more than twice. And I have seen people who believed strongly in their actions, as disgusting as they were, and thought themselves heroes all their own-"  
  
"I don't want to discuss moral issues with you, of all people-"  
  
"-and you expect me to accept the killing of good leaders to be for the well-being of all-"  
  
"I don't want to hear-"  
  
"-How can you say this?? I-"  
  
"Be quiet!" Mal screamed, all friendliness gone, collapsing in his seat with his forehead near the table surface. "I don't want to hear this!"  
  
He shook a threatening finger at Duo, now pushing his chair to the table and sitting down.  
  
"You have killed thousands." Mal took a breath, oblivious to Duo's stunned expression. "I don't think I'll take your word on anything - now, if you'll excuse me..."  
  
He marched to the door, his hand was on the handle. Just as he was going to leave, Duo snapped his fingers to get his attention. Mal stopped, freezing in his steps, glancing over his shoulder frigidly.  
  
Duo grinned casually. He kicked his legs up so his feet rested on the table, and folded his hands behind his head.  
  
"Ask me if I'm an automobile." He wiggled his eyebrows to egg on Mal into doing so.  
  
Mal gave him a confused, apprehensive expression.  
  
"...Are you..an..automobile?"   
  
Duo's half-closed eyes glittered with humor, his mouth pulling up into a lazy, yet wide grin.   
  
"No." He said slowly, drawling the word out. With that said, he dipped his head back, risking the chance of upsetting his chair entirely, and began to laugh insanely. His laughter peeled off the walls and crashed into the furniture; continuous and loud, Mal could hear it clearly as it followed him down the hall, door closed and all.  
  
  
  
Relena felt the party ending. People had already left; she had been able to get along with nearly the entire crowd. And the party, if she could call it that, in her opinion would end well.   
  
Maids and hired help for the night calmly came in and took away the silver mixing bowls, crystal wine glasses, the orderve plates. But they seemed to remain unseen - the other guests did not react to them as they pulled on coats for the cold outside.   
  
Relena and the Head of Russia's War department met eyes. She inclined her head, smiling. He had been cooperative beyond belief, to her delight.   
  
Yet she couldn't resist a small yawn. Turning away for a moment, she waited for her jaw to relax.   
  
Oh. Hello. Sauntering over with dragging feet, Relena edged closer to one of the remaining guest with curiosity. His head was bowed as he stood by the table that had held the wines being served - only the table cloth remained, spotted with a variety of wine stains. His jacket was thrown over one arm, and his shirt, unwrinkled, the collar still straight, narrowed into his waist quite neatly.   
  
"Quatre Winner?" He swung around, eyes brightening at her approach. Relena nodded to him with a welcoming smile. "May I assume the evening went well for you?"   
  
At that last comment, his expression caved in. Relena, eyebrows pulling together with light worry, followed his stare to his fist, now opening. When Relena had a clear view of what the thing in question was, she found it be, held firmly between his fingers, the stump of a heel, most likely from a woman's shoe. Relena closed the short gap between them, staring down at the object with a puzzled look that made her hunch forward.  
  
Quatre stared at it with wonder and a little resentment, surprisingly - Relena hadn't seen him in such a forlorn state herself before - but most of all with concern, growing with each thought that crossed his mind.   
  
After a few minutes of silence and persistent stares given the pitiable stump, Relena righted herself, cocking her head to the side and eyeing Quatre questioningly.  
  
"Achille's true weak point or someone I know?" An informal, rather crude way to pry, Relena admitted to herself, but at least he gave her a small smile.  
  
And then he shrugged, his fist closing up around the stump protectively.   
  
"Thank you, Miss Relena Darlian. I had a good time." Quatre gave her a merry look. "I'm sorry I did'nt have the chance to dance with you."   
  
"Another time. Goodnight, Quatre Winner." She lightly patted his shoulder in farewell before moving on.  
  
  
  
It was lonely. She was lonely.  
  
But then again, there were two types of loneliness that existed in this world - one being something keenly felt, an empty weight in someone's gut; it made warmth glance off a body so a person could shiver in their hollow misery, and then there was the other kind that was much more pleasant.  
  
This loneliness was welcoming; the kind where one could wander with only their thoughts to keep them busy, where a secluded walkway emptied of trampled beer cans and people was an altogether wonderful experience. Lady Luck sat on the bench while Fate leaned against the tree, and one could traipse along without feeling walled in by other presences.  
  
She wasn't sure which she felt - perhaps a combination.   
  
Hanging a towel back on its rack, Relena turned and caught her reflection in the mirror. How many times had her own appearance caught her attention so? In that dress Denna had her try on. That time she set on glasses only to find she was not made for them. When she first braided her hair.  
  
So many labels were given to her; she tallied them up in her mind, an unseen smile of wry humor curving her mouth. Had she honey-blonde or honey-brown hair? Tawny or sandy blonde? Light brown, golden brown, ginger-golde? Brown-gold, blonde-gold, what was the difference?  
  
Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head. Did she have beautiful pools of silvery blue for eyes? Giant blue orbs? Sky-blue or striking blue? So many descriptions.   
  
But who gave a true thought to all this?   
  
Was she the Queen or Princess? Queen Politician, woman politician, sweet talking girl, gentle lady, gentlewoman, the fair beauty of Cinq? During the months in Montreal, she had seen more titles given to her name with each week, every issue of a newspaper and tabloid article coming up with a new version. It made her chuckle while standing in the lines for the register, buying the groceries she needed.  
  
Leaving the bathroom, she picked up her glass of champagne, as of yet untouched. This she intended to down once the clock rang of midnight - some form of celebration was necessary. And since fireworks were discouraged of around the land of the Peacecraft mansion she had the television on. Paris would have a better display.  
  
Biting her lip, she left her seat opposite the television to wander over to the window. It reached from the floor to the ceiling in a wide arch; her eyes centered on the grounds outside, now white with unmarred, untrampled snow. This being a fresh snow, just fallen, no one had cleared the pathways below leading around the mansion.  
  
Chewing on the tip of her tongue, Relena pressed in closer to the window, her nose rubbing up against the glass, each exhale of breath creating a hazy ring of fog. Suddenly pulling back, she set the glass of champagne down and rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms. A cold draft had settled in on her body. Cold. Fancifully imagining herself to be warm, she moved away from the window and back to her seat, tucking her feet under her knees Indian-style.   
  
Lonely and cold - happy, lonely, and cold.  
  
Blinking, she felt a tiny creature of fickle pessimism nagging at her, hissing softly-toned whispers up her ear canal. Studying the screen of the television, she found a hair of herself forming a whim...  
  
Loneliness, no matter what kind, could not be overcome without the needed strength - at that thought, the nagging calmed, having successfully made aware its warning.   
  
A strength was missing right then, and Relena crouched into her seat, slouching terribly. The sound of a voice singing was suddenly muted and she didn't hear a stray burst of wind whistle strangely outside. Missing strength; loneliness...  
  
Oh, loneliness, what kind aquaintance you are.   
  
  
  
I was in one of those extremely off moods writing this - trying to write seriously and listening to "Strangers In The Night" just didn't work. But, Quatre's got Dorothy's heel! - that was all worth it. Him, holding that little heel in his hand, wondering what the heck happened without his saying a word....I am all highly amused by that - Dorothy's onslaught of confusion gives me the chuckles, too. She doesn't show if often, ne?   
  
Please review! (Add honey to the labors). 


	13. Ch.13 Circus life torn down

Disclaimer: I own GW as much as my name is 'monkeyspit.'  
  
Two more characters have been added to the cast! *Dances around like a troll* Woo-hoo-hoo!! (Vixen and Sarah, thank you!)  
  
  
  
Dorothy turned the corner to her office hurriedly, a pile of work jammed between the crook of her arm and her waist, a pen tucked behind her ear and her mouth turned downwards in quiet scorn of the system.  
  
Nigeria's exports did not count for much of a percentage in the world market. Their products existed mostly of surplus, but the majority of the country worked not on farms but in factories. They had an excellent harbor, though. It gave refuge and rest to shipments coming across the Atlantic from South America and those coming south from Europe and northern Africa. They had many landing strips, too - more than anyone knew, really.   
  
Romaefeller, in the beginning of its reign, used at least two countries in each continent for its army. Nigeria, being a relatively innocent tradespoint, had housed a sliver of the army at all times. In turn for its services, Romaefeller signed its name under a contract stating it had taken Nigeria under its protective wing.  
  
When the war had broken out into full-fledged mayhem, the contract was nonverbally dropped in order to prepare for the battles. Nigeria and its many, many military shelters were momentarily forgotten, during which Dorothy guessed the terrorist group to have expanded to a much larger state.   
  
And now they were going to make themselves known.   
  
Where could this lead to? The African nations were still regarded as third world countries in the developing stage of becoming more. They had disputes in the government's ranks and no true navy or army, with the exception of a few - Egypt for one, along with Morocco.   
  
Dorothy let the pile slap onto the surface of her desk.  
  
She wouldn't have time to herself for the next month or so; her division of the Preventers was much involved with this project.  
  
Dorothy stroked her forehead with the tips of her fingers languidly, eyes easing over packets and folders and faxes. She could not think of herself at this crucial point; inner confusion had to be replaced by something new. Order. A fake order, discipline.   
  
Drown her own fears in that of the Preventers. Rake the frustration aside.   
  
Dorothy's nails dragged along the skin roughly as she thought about this. A muffled growl of her own wormed itself out of her heart; if only she could throttle those bastards for their actions as blame for her own.   
  
  
  
Trowa leaned against the crate, listening to the Lion inside pacing, it's giant paws thumping against the wooden boards impatiently, its tail sometimes swinging against the sides of it to show its unease. Every so often, he could hear it panting slow, gruff cries of perplexion.   
  
"Shh. Calm down." Trowa murmured, arms crossed over his chest, head bent at such an angle that his chin nearly touched his chest, directly under the collar bone. Eyes closed, his lips moved as he said things to himself without sound. "It will be alright. Shh."   
  
Catherine sat not far from where he stood, sadly watching the tent being taken down, the poles tied together in a massive bundle to be loaded into the flatbed of a truck. Other than the Lions and the team of show dogs they had, all other animals had been shipped off already. The performers she had lived with so long had all said their goodbyes, leaving with promises of future reunions.   
  
They were the last of them. Catherine had not finished packing at the time and Trowa had waited for her. Her long stay with the Circus as one of their best performers had earned her the privilege of a trailer all her own - small, but very private. Packing hadn't been that necessary if it were to come with them, but now they were leaving it, too.   
  
Having owned more memories than materialistic things, Catherine had quietly asked if Trowa could rip some things from the walls of the trailer before it was towed. He had silently gotten to work on that, carrying out small cabinet doors and pieces of the actuall wall were the glue had long since melded with the structure.   
  
Catherine would then tie these together with metal twine and lay them in boxes.  
  
Now the tent collapsed, folding into millions of colorful wrinkles, a large, heavy mass of old fabric flattening the grass beneath. She watched it disappear into another truck, as if being sucked in so as to be shredded by an inner machine.  
  
Standing up, she faced a tree in the distance, eyes narrowing. With one quick tug of her wrist she brought out her familiar family of knives; one after the other was thrown aggressively, lunging at the tree. They formed a near-straight line when she was done; shoulders slumping, she trotted over to retrieve them from its trunk.  
  
Ciruses went out of business from time to time. Others would take their place.  
  
But it was not a comfortable feeling to sit with.  
  
Glancing back, she saw the tent to have gone completely from sight; Trowa now stood alone, the Lions having been brought away while her back was turned. Like stone he watched the last trucks and moving vans off, dust clouds springing up where they turned on the road.  
  
This has been her circus - and for a time, their circus. A make-shift home along with a make-shift group of friends.  
  
The dogs were gone now as well.   
  
Oh Trowa.   
  
Now what would happen to them?  
  
  
  
Relena bobbed her head to the music on the radio, turned up a few notches for her to hear clearly from the living room. Rubbing the handle of a small kitchen knife between her thumb and index finger, Relena trotted back to the counter, not entirely alert, her attention parted between the apple she intended to cut and the lyrics.  
  
Trotting, though, from place to place did not necessarily mean she was happy.   
  
The two weeks of work over, New Years excluded, she had returned to a silent, dreary little house in which hung almost nothing of any real value to her. A dip into depression or perhaps the sudden realization of the few weeks left to her had caused to come with a sour attitude.   
  
Denna had slipped a card under the door in her absence; 'Happy New Years, Panda.' Why Panda, Relena wondered, soon shrugging it off and setting the card on the coffee table.  
  
To her apprehension, Relena was not given any clear orders of when to definitely return to Cinq. Soon, yes. When, who knows. Relena began to peel the apple, eating bits of the skin inbetween knife strokes, chewing in time to the music - a feat she was not quite aware of. She peeled slowly, maybe an inch every ten seconds.   
  
One more slice and the apple would be completely naked, it's green hide meeting up with her digestive system. Perfectly white but for a green patch, she quickly cut in.  
  
The knife dropped to her feet, clattering till it had bumped under the eaves of the counter. Her lips parted, before the knife had even left her fingers, in a silent scream. The once-white apple now sported large red splotches that dripped onto the counter surface, and she veered away with the sharp sting in her hand, coughing up sputterings of words.   
  
Blood dripping onto the wooden floor she raced out of the kitchen, made a limping dash around the corner of the stair post and hobbled up the steps to the bathroom. Her injured hand, now clamped tightly by the other, she held close to her stomach as if it was in some danger of otherwise being hurt.  
  
Once in the bathroom, Relena turned the faucet on, tears now blurring her vision. A strange thought wandered into the open; should she really wash the blood off directly from this heavily-bleeding cut? What if it was deep? It must be deep, the knife had dived into the skin. Why hadn't she been paying attention?  
  
She ended up sitting on the toilet seat, hunchbacked over her hand and rocking back and forth while the faucet ran on. The pain was surprising - her shirt now carried a large red stain, turning the blue material a peculiar, dark purple. As if she was an animal with purple blood instead of red.  
  
Lifting her face, she caught sight of an old dishtowel she had been using to wipe water from the bathroom counters - now old and slightly ragged around the edges. Grabbing it, she hastily wrapped the cloth around her hand, fumbling and not making it as tight as she should have.  
  
It would stop bleeding soon. It had to. Please stop bleeding. No blood, please, no blood, not now. Why would this throw her into a panic? - oh Lord, the dishtowel wasn't enough, where was something she could use -   
  
Toilet paper. Lots of toilet paper, an entire roll of toilet paper - wrap wrap wrap, unwrap, wrap around her hand, put the dishtowel back on. Relena knew, maybe she had to call the hospital.   
  
But she only wanted the blood to lessen a little before calling. Get rid of the bloody toilet paper, too. Relena had to be able to hold the phone and dial without keeping the makeshift-bandage closed.  
  
Relena wiped away sick tears from her eyes. Those weren't just from this damned cut. It was a build-up of things, a small pyramid, that made her want to let loose in a bout of weeping. Not weeping, really, but certainly crying.  
  
Things just didn't make sense. She had woken that morning with a headache. People were acting strange and more out of the ordinary than usual. Her birthday had gone by with calls for a celebration, all of which she refused. Montreal would leave her life at the end of four months. Nigeria was creating these problems and she had no way of correctiong them through actions.   
  
Good, good, stay on Nigeria, that is a sensible reason to cry right now. Cinq couldn't get involved, that's good, think of that. Why couldn't it get involved? Answer already!   
  
Well, as the leading model of complete pacifism Cinq could not jump into an aggressive front because another country did not agree with its principles. Doing this would be extremely hypocritical. All Relena wanted was to talk, know they're opinion and reasons.   
  
Relena's tears had dried up, the rocking had left her body.   
  
Now she could call.   
  
She felt as if there was, indeed, a purpose for this odd depression in her life. And now that it was there in her conscious mind, she could get up from her cramped seat.   
  
This was much better; not healed, but certainly better.  
  
  
  
Stitches. Many stitches - blue thread poking in and out of her skin. Her palm itched whenever she twisted it, but in a way she could forget. At least she was back.   
  
Relena sniffed, hoping to rid her nose of the smell of dried blood soon enough. She had been cleaning it from the floor with a multiple number of paper towels, scrubbing hurriedly in the mind that it would leave no mark.  
  
It was darker in the kitchen where she was on hands and knees, wiping up the last bits of evidence from her accident. Scooching back, she managed to make another swipe and clearing the floor entirely of the brown-red. Still the smell would not go away, so she took a tissue and blew her nose in efforts of urging it on and out.   
  
Just after she threw all away, paper towels and the used tissue, the bell rung accompanied by a hurried knock. Struggling from her stiff knee joints to her feet, she reached the door seconds after. With her hand on the doorbell she glanced over her shoulder to make sure it was alright in the kitchen, that no proof had been forgotten.  
  
Opening the door, Relena felt a grin stretch over her teeth as she ushered her guests inside. The wind blew into her body, making her eyes water, but she refused it entry.  
  
Turning, she just heard the loud sigh of Denna's purple shag coat sinking into its folds in a corner. Lark wrinkled her nose repeatedly and worked her fingers through cracking and stretching them; she severely disliked the cold.   
  
From under her arms she took a set of crutches and set them against the back of the sofa, causing Relena to pull back in surprise and look her over; once the girl's heavy coat was removed saw her right foot to be in a cast.  
  
As had always been an unconscious habit of hers, Denna had sneaked up to Relena's elbow while she was in a spell of thought, wriggling with joyful expectancy. In her hand she held a movie, a large bag of sweetened popcorn gripped between two fingers.  
  
Lark leveled a stare at the tall girl, searching her for any smugness at her situation. She found none, only excitement. With a quiet snort she settled onto the couch, propping her cast on the coffee table, awaiting questions that were part of the courtesy given to invalids.  
  
"Lark, what happened?" Denna clicked the light for the living room off; Relena had forgotten it was on, accepting the false light as part of the room's atmosphere. Without it, she found a dull pain in her eyes easing.  
  
"I fell."   
  
A feral grin flashed into Denna's face as she flopped to the floor near the television.  
  
"Tell her the whole story, Groucho, it's funnier that way." Lark grabbed for one of her crutches. Relena's questioning look at her made Lark put it away after just one good bop on Denna's head, in which she gave a hissed curse at her short companion.  
  
"Ballet." Lark said bluntly. Relena's eyebrows were working against their natural limits; she came closer while Denna played with the VCR set.  
  
"I did not know you took ballet." Lark blew a dissatisfied exhale from between pressed lips.  
  
"I didn't. But my parents-"   
  
"Eccentric old goofs-"  
  
"-decided I should in hopes I would have something else to concentrate on rather than lash out at classmates."   
  
"Has it worked?"  
  
"To them it did; the lessons ended about a week ago."   
  
"May I ask if that was when you hurt your foot?" Lark gave the cast a sullen glance.  
  
"This? I got that two days ago."   
  
"Prepare yourself, Lena dear." Lark seemed to have gotten used to letting Denna's comments go unacknowledged and ignored it, boring down on Relena's face instead.   
  
"I continued the lessons." She said in a very frank tone. Relena's smile hid itself in a wiggly line, the corners of her mouth jerking. She thought she understood.  
  
"Ah, I see." Lark nodded and turned from her, settling into a very comfortable, slumped position on her share of the couch.   
  
"Denna, what did you bring?"  
  
"Something wonderful, you'll see. Could you put this in a bowl?" She threw the popcorn into Relena's lap.  
  
"Of course, excuse me." She took the oblong bag and poured the contents into a plastic container, returning once she had checked herself on the work done to the once-bloody floor.  
  
Denna glanced up at the television screen, stretched, and pressed 'Play.' Lark took the bowl from Relena and motioned for her to sit down; the previews started, broken between by commercials, and they sat dumbly waiting for the movie to begin.  
  
  
  
I'm sorry this is short, but I've gotten into a rut. If I don't find something, I might implode....too many situations and scenes that I want to install in this, but I can't do them all at once....ACK, order! (It'll probably take me a while to get the next chapter up, but it will be much more realistic than anything so far, and I need more time to think it through).  
  
And I have finished and uploaded a yuri - it has an unusual couple, Relena and Dorothy. (These two should come up more often, they're an extremely interesting pair).  
  
Please review!! I would really like your opinion on this. 


	14. Ch.14 Shadowing of Five Minds

Disclaimer: *Cackles*   
  
Everyone who has reviewed and appreciated the fic, thank you so much!! It has been my greatest joy to see the reviews and get the emails, and I'm extremely happy at the reaction. (Giddy, really).  
  
  
  
Although this was a crucial point in her career as doppleganger to herself, Relena found her time tended to disappear, evaporating into a surprising number of days - these, naturally, became weeks and toppled into months.   
  
January remained an old reminder of the past year, a sour spot in her memory - it was coupled with the rest of her first semester in Linden High. But it passed with nothing becoming an obstinate growth impairing her to move on.   
  
Lena, she found, was getting along just famously; liked, but inconspicous. Another person, another student - an added set of feet to walk the halls, one more laugh to add to the mass. The dear girl had Denna and Lark, the latter a small bulldog of a guardian, loyal to all who she liked, the former a smiling version of the term 'groovy' - someone to dance a waltz and eat falafals with.   
  
Lena bought an ocarina just a week ago. She wore the same clothes she started out with at the beginning of the year. She danced when she felt the urge to and drank frappuccinos while skipping downhill. At the mentioning of them, she rented the Child's Play movies, thoroughly shocking herself with the visionary effects and huddling down in a blanket on one end of the couch.   
  
Relena came to love Lena. Lena, although subdued in character and speech to a strange level, was so nice. Comfortable. She was glad to be the one to wear Lena, like a favorite pair of socks - this she had, too; Lena recently became the proud owner of flamingo socks with the big toe section separated from the others.   
  
Yes, Lena was a 'dear', as Denna liked to put it.   
  
  
  
  
But Relena's life, the true side of the two, was steeped in strained   
relations. All would have gone more or less smoothly if one considerable threat were not present: Nigeria was not to be Nigeria anymore. It was part of a joint contract in mid-merge to become the militaristic Nation of Africa, and the NA now refused the former agreement of complete Pacifism.   
  
How can a country protect itself if Pacifism really turns out to be a failure? What if it became a flop, a deadened branch extending from the ashes of wartimes? These were the questions that acted as justification for the new government being set up in Africa. And these were the questions they presented the Earth Sphere United Nations (ESUN) with when asked what they planned. Obscure but plainly against the grain, the NA steeled itself to show its resolve.   
  
Than again, Relena could not have expected the world to bend to the principles of Pacifism. She only hoped they would see the truth she saw in it and that they could work together to bring this truth out into a working whole. But her hopes stopped at a boundary where other's made up their minds about the subject.   
  
The actual topic to approach was acceptance of this new country, this form of government she had meant to banish from use. This had a forked path of actions for her to follow along. As it was, if the (new) Nation of Africa resisted any type of treaty to become allies with ESUN, she would have to rise against its leaders and their ideals under the pretense of potential threat to Earth and the Colonies. Her resistance would not strike her as wrong, since she could not keep herself from tensing at the thought of a government run by the power of its' army and navy.   
  
Or, if the NA decided to, it could live on as that, using its army in service of the entire world - maybe even the colonies, if the need rose (Relena prayed for it not to).   
  
This was, though, a very thin possibility. She disliked the way the NA's rulers had wrenched the power of an entire country, a vulnerable country at that, into their hands by destroying former government leaders. This was sending a very dark and threatening message to all government leaders, and these were somehow directed especially at the members of the Earth Sphere Alliance. (They being most prominent at the time).   
  
Relena guessed the question to be: Could she accept this new nation, with the correct reasons and agreements, or would she reject it?   
  
  
  
  
There were so many illusions about power that flew about freely in the   
society of the present; the views of the public had come to these   
conclusions: the former Gundam pilots, though now having disappeared, had been a unified force fighting a personalized battle and the many cabinets of Romaefeller and that its opposing political enemies were sly and back-stabbing - Cinq had fallen to Romaefeller, to serve as a reminder of this.   
  
They did not know. If they had, it might have broken out in a confused, riotous clamoring of questions that could really go unsurfaced. Things that needed to be laid to rest would be pulled into the glower of inquisitive eyes again and dragged out needlessly.   
  
The Gundam pilots, former, had not been a unified force as so many thought. Each came with the thought that they, having been suitably prepared, were alone, with no one to help them but themselves and their only companions - the Gundams.   
  
They were willing to work with each other, some more than others, but the result would be that each had succeeded in their own way. That the people they would have died for grouped them together in one category was an ignorant way of not acknowledging their achievements.   
  
But it had been their people; the wars had been finished with, their respectable enemies defeated - some not, but these were particular   
characters with a very personal score to settle with the assorted pilots. Peace had come, with its own sacrifices, and they had been given lives again.   
  
Among so many, the characters of these pilots were twisted to fit a certain stereotype. One was the brain, the next was the judge, etc. This was a very unjust system of labeling, although they felt indifferent to it. Sally glanced at the back of her comrade, his head bent over something that had his attention completely. As long as he would live, he would never believe himself to be one of the Gundam pilots. He had the needed strength and skill; there was nothing more to it. Nataku had let him pilot her, she had been his savior.   
  
Although this was a very strong interpretation of what he thought, Sally believed it to be so. He had, except for the rare occasion seen most in the downhill run of the war, fought on his own, separate from any other. In a way, he had been the most secluded, the most lonely, the most needy. His past, beliefs and hopes tied into his battle strength; the only way he would let himself pass such strict judgements on others, such as life or death at the hands of Nataku, occured if he felt the Gundam would let him.   
  
He might be harsh and gruff with the people around him, critisize hypocrisy and continue his starched advice of right and wrong, but this he did with himself first of all. He was painfully righteous and strict with himself, above all others.   
  
If he did not follow what he told others, he thought he would be best off dead. Sally was never sure if she agreed with him, but this earned him a grudging, reluctant respect among the workers.   
  
She saw this pass and only wondered that he, that the others, could see   
this and still smile. In a way, they adored the people they had saved - the could allow some mistakes on their part, if not as grievous the past ones.   
  
The most misunderstood were the pilots; she hoped that they at least found consolence at starting out again and becoming something other than what they had been. In truth, each had that they would die - to find that every single one of them had lived with limbs in tact and minds still there was a shock. They had not quite given that much thought to what would happen afterwards.   
  
Sally gave herself a small grin and picked up a pen; oh, she could have told them. She could have told them their lives were not to be ended just then, but she had not wanted to spoil the surprise.   
  
  
Mariemaia, at hearing the three knocks at the door, turned from the kitchen and wheeled herself to the entrance. Her lap kept warm by a comfortor thrown over it and a pillow trapped between the chair and her back - it was aching as of late - she opened the door with little difficutly. It was not quite designed for wheelchairs and her arms were not yet long enough to reach it without some practice.  
  
When she had wheeled herself far away from the doormat to let her new guest in, she gave but a surprised glance that quickly hid itself in the calm, matter-of-fact in her eyes. Eyebrows barely moving up, her expression remained even, mouth a quiet little wonder, completely neutral.  
  
"Dorothy. Come in." She gestured to the furniture. "It has been a while."  
  
Shutting the door behind her, with her back leaning against it, Dorothy shrugged. Dressed as she was in the Preventers' desired gear, she looked the picture of military intellect but for the obviously misguided air about her. Mariemaia, priding herself on her ability to detect these things in all people, promptly jerked her head at a sofa.  
  
"Dear cuz, what's on your mind?" She asked, her voice still. Dorothy made herself comfortable, first crossing her legs, then resting her elbows on the top of the sofa, then uncrossing her legs and overlapping the ankles. She tried various positions till one pleased her while she answered.  
  
"Much. Time has flown with minor obstacles of late." The answer gave Dorothy a suspecting jerk of an eyebrow from Mariemaia, who regarded her with as much cool collection as she usually did.  
  
"Really." Mariemaia set her hands on the wheels of her wheelchair and came nearer. Dorothy met Mariemaia in a hard gaze, each unwanting and uncaring of the piercing stare they were given. "Then why is there anger in your eyes?"  
  
Dorothy, now lying on her back with her boots propped up on the other armrest of the sofa, jerked her head up, letting the stare drop in turn for the ceiling. Her mouth, before as careless as her limp hands had been, clenched in a thin line.  
  
"I thought I kept emotions from my eyes well enough for none to see, especially a child." She gave tartly, a fist lying on her stomach - the fist was, of course, hers and hers to keep.  
  
But Mariemaia only nodded with satisfaction; she was right.  
  
"Oh, you are angry." Leaning forward, the little girl set her chin in one propped up hand, staring unnervingly at Dorothy. "Might I know why?"  
  
Dorothy's fist paused from moving altogether for a moment then slowly tumbled to her side. Her body conformed to the sofa cushions; she gave no answer and did not seem ready to give one anyway. Even her head slid to the side a little, tilting in such a way that she just caught the line where ceiling met the wall opposite her.  
  
"I do not think that is any of your concern, Mariemaia." She spoke the name candidly, making the girl in front of her straighten. She had very rarely heard Dorothy speak her name directly to her; as much as a ridiculous, somewhat silly novelty this was, it shook the ground she was now basing Dorothy's anger on.  
  
Again, though, she leaned forward.  
  
"This has nothing to do with work; you would not even complain if it was so. Who is it?" Besides being as harshly voiced as anyone even slightly related to the Catalonia family, although still sweet and unnaturally childlike in tone, she possessed a queer sense of guessing. And the knowlegdge of the undercurrents of politics sorted through the facts she gathered quicker than in the mind of a normal child.  
  
Dorothy pressed stray fingertips to her forehead.  
  
"No one." Mariemaia curiously glanced her over; tense, but she came for some reason, so she would continue to pry.  
  
"I don't believe you at all."  
  
"That is entirely up to you."  
  
"Why did you come?"  
  
"Why indeed?" Mariemaia bristled ever so lightly, as much as her composure would let her. She had really been very loose and actually happy before this visit.  
  
"Than get out." She pointed to the door with a strict index finger. "Now."  
  
Swallowing, Dorothy remained on the sofa, but with the flat of her hand pressed against her eyes. Her closed eyes. Her breathing came out nearly without sound and she seemd to ignore the demand. The little girl almost expected her to demand Mariemaia leave, regardless of this being her own home, but nothing happened. Mariemaia, after some seconds of keeping her finger pointing at the door, let it fall to thump against the side of her wheelchair.  
  
The strained in Dorothy's eyes told her it was a 'who' and not a 'what.' Mariemia only knew of a few who could affect anything of or about Dorothy. She would even go so far as to say these few people were the only ones Dorothy allowed to affect her so.  
  
"Oh, Dorothy." The hand lifted; two eyes stared at her. The little girl suddenly was given to understand the situation; such quick realizations only came when it was given in a quick, chance moment she might have overlooked and only felt had she not seen it that very second.  
  
Mariemaia pressed her hands against the armrests of her wheelchair, attempting to at least lift herself into a straighter posture than before. She strained her neck and shoulder muscles, but was not built to endure that weight below her waist. She fell.  
  
If her knees hit the ground, she would not have been able to tell, and if her feet slapped against some railing on the wheelchair, she would only have known through a bruise the next day. But arms awkwardly encircled her, coming from under her own arms, and lifting her back into the wheelchair with some effort.  
  
And Dorothy did not move from sitting, kneeling, almost, at her cousin's knee and staring up at her unmovingly. Had it been anyone else they might have - would have - excused themselves rapidly with the uncomfortability the look caused, the intense strangeness of it all too much. Dorothy's hands slid from Mariemaia's back to the girl's lap, cupping her knees loosely.  
  
"Why?" She asked, as though pondering the very meaning of the word to herself. "Why? Why?"  
  
Mariemaia, although still as though nothing had happened, held her hands high enough from Dorothy not to touch her. This intimacy had always involved an inanimate object they both happened to catch; but being this close, face to face, was truly intimidating. She did not want such personal relationships.  
  
But Dorothy did not give her a choice about the matter, instead laying her head down on the girl's lap without a sound or bothering, oddly mipslaced or misguided look. And the weight itself was really not intimidating, and the softness - her hair was soft, even if it was only because it was soft by nature - thawed the sudden, unfamiliar edge of the experience.  
  
And Mariemaia lowered her arms, unknowingly scowling as if highly suspicious about something she did not understand, and finding that not understanding was a great burden to her mind. Dorothy's head on her lap was so different, and so...completely foreign.  
  
But it was a gesture meant from, so to say, from the heart and read off from emotions. Thank heavens she had not cried - Dorothy would not have cried, anyway, for even in this state she would have scoffed sincerely at the suggestion - or whimpered, or something of the like.  
  
This was actually not that bad. Mariemaia's scowle lessened; it was all becoming a welcoming feeling.  
  
She was needed.  
  
Dorothy needed some sort of comfort.  
  
She was needed for comfort.  
  
Really not an action she would have expected to be required of her, least of all from this person, Dorothy, the only one who seemed to have contact with her on the same level of mental capacity. And with that last thought, Mariemaia placed her hands around the crown of Dorothy's head in a gentle, unsure touch.  
  
It was a good feeling, this being needed sort of deal. She began to stroke the head and the soft hair, and Dorothy seemed to freeze to keep her from stopping.  
  
How was it that this was comforting for them both?  
  
  
  
This chapter gave me a surprising amount of difficulty, which is why I couldn't post it sooner (I would have weeks ago, otherwise). First, half of the chapter just disappeared to Lord knows where, but I got some of it back and rewrote the half involving Dorothy and Mariemaia. But I almost had an anxiety attack at seeing part of the Wufei-section erased, that nearly did me in......  
  
Since this a long weekend for me, I'm probably going to make one or two more updates besides this chapter; I should be finished with my DBZ fic and the second yuri chapter for "Caught" by the end of this week, hopefully.  
  
Oh, please review and thank you for all the commentary so far!! 


	15. Ch.15 Last Assignment, Yours Truly

Disclaimer: *Smothers Disclaimer* Usual applies.  
  
Because of some bad luck with a disc - that contained chapters 16 and 17 of "Starting Over" - that croaked on me, I've had to rewrite much of what I had planned. Now, though, this gives me a chance to write something a little better and actually stick with the storyline. I only hope the other things on that disc weren't that important - for the life of me, I can't remember what else was on it!  
  
Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy heartily!  
  
  
  
Duo scuttled back through the now-familiar gate of Headquarters, holding one palm over his face to keep the rain from further muddying his view of the sidewalk he found himself on and using the other to drag along a small suitcase behind him. It had been a frustrating month for him, poor soul, trapped and nearly suffocated by bland sand-colored walls.  
  
After that one appearance he never saw Mal Kash again. Although the visit was pleasant along Duo's terms, his irrational dislike of the man had melted to an uncaring indifference, and now he only wanted to be in a bed he had slept in before. Did it matter that his roommate was a basketcase? Absolutely not.  
  
Pausing, he reached up to his jaw bone and scratched hastily. The rain only seemed to make the bite itch more - his temporary prison had provided a mosquitoe that had taken to him with unimagineable livelihood.  
  
Up ahead came the sounds of rain gathering in puddles, completely normal and to be expected. He was just about to turn into the back entrance when he heard a different pitter-patter that was other than rain. The sound was heavy and came only at intervals. Turning, he blinked into   
the space behind him, drops falling from his eyelashes and running down the sides of his face. It took him the longest time to distinguish that moving black moving shadow as a person whose footsteps made that alien sound on the soggy, rain dampened mud.  
  
He watched as the shadow pivot cleanly and turn away from Duo; something glistened briefly when the sky let up enough for some moon to show and he found it to be bare skin. Duo shook his head, droplets flying from his coat, and set the luggage he carried into the nook of an entrance. He kicked it closer to the door.  
  
Cupping his hands around his mouth, and wiping strands of soaked hair from his face, Duo yelled out to the stranger in the rain. At first, the sound of his voice must not have carried as far as he had hoped and he had to yell again. A flicker of movement and the shadow was stayed: he knew it was watching him, if with more ability than the now-near sighted Duo.  
  
Duo waved, gesturing for whoever it was to come nearer. When the shadow did move toward him, since at first it hesitated, he let his arms fall and glanced at his watch. It was just afer midnight; he would have rather fallen asleep at the airport, but found himself wanting of a real bed.  
  
Swinging his arms, Duo tapped his feet on the pavement, aware of his clothes now clinging to his body and his hair feeling like a warm, wet towel rung together and hooked to his head by velcro. He began humming but he could barely hear himself when he did. This was the type of downpour that, though drenching its inhabitants below and bloating sewers along the way, was rare one in ten. Still, it was difficult to reconcile with.  
  
The figure came closer till it stood just five feet away; the looked at each other, wary and silent. Duo finally just gave a heaving sigh, looked as tired as he felt for the first time in two hours and slipped his hands into his pockets.  
  
"What are you doing out here at midnight?" He began, his teeth grinding with a dry tone to his voice as he spoke. Heero seemed taken back momentarily before ringing out the sweater he used to have on.  
  
"I didn't know it was midnight." He threw the sweater on top of Duo's luggage and his old companion gave another sigh, throwing a curt look over his shoulder at the sweater now soaking into his suitcase. The sigh was not the obvious kind, only the kind that came in the absence of grumbling. This meant they were to stand out for just a few minutes longer.  
  
Heero kicked at the wall and mud splattered from his mud-caked sneakers. Duo realized they were indeed the ones he had last seen Heero wearing a month ago: it felt as though he had been running the entire time he had been gone, just carrying on for the last thirty or so days. He puffed his cheeks up while watching Heero give the wall another kick to free the mud: the boy looked up at Duo and quickly wiped his hands on his pants, successfully smearing them into an even messier state.  
  
Strangely, he did not notice. In an effort to rid himself of the rainwater that still ran down his face he wiped the back of his hand along his forehead. A large stripe of brown appeared under the sagging bangs but he kept his eyes locked on Duo's scarlet ones.  
  
"Why are you out here? You're a pretty sound sleeper last that I knew." Duo began.   
  
Heero was, at times. One could tell because Duo usually heard him breath then instead of the muted stillness with which he kept watch over his vulnerable state during sleep.  
  
Heero shrugged, using his forearm to now rub off the mud drying on his forehead.  
  
"I couldn't sleep." Duo's eyebrow jerked at that.  
  
Heero threw his head back, gave a large gasp, took in a deep breath of air that expanded his chest to the fullest and let his ribs stand out against the dark stain of green that was his shirt. Shoulders thrown back and arms rigidly at his side he inhaled once more before settling into the usual stance.  
  
"Restless."  
  
"Indeed." Nodding at the wet and dirt that clung to Heero's body he added, "Fall?"  
  
Heero looked down at himself, spread his hands to glance at the palms and nodded reluctantly. His stare, though, landed on Duo with the intense focus he reserved for questions.  
  
"Why are you back?"  
  
"Now you ask." Duo scuffled his boot against the cement while responding. "I'm pretty sure I was caught by the...what do they call it now, NA?"  
  
Heero's chin snapped up at that.  
  
"Explain."  
  
"You really didn't know? Didn't you even wonder when I didn't call?" Duo found it slightly frustrating that his friend would be so ignorant of things he kept on top of just to call a hobby. It was just the thing to do as a guest in someone's home, anway: notify them of ones' safe arrival.  
  
Heero shrugged and tilted his head to the side.  
  
"We never really contact each other these days, I didn't think to worry." Heero did not worry, he thought ahead. Duo found the extra bit of commentary interesting, though.  
  
"What do you mean?" Heero's silenced made him advance in his guessing. "You mean about Trowa, Quatre?"  
  
Heero nodded and Duo fell back on his heels, rocking once back and pitching forward slightly.  
  
"Well, what's new?"  
  
"The circus is gone."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Trowa works at a zoo now."  
  
"Oh." After a moment he thought out loud, "Surprise, surprise." He flattened his lips against each other in a thin line at the period of silence once again. Heero had, though, found a way to wipe the mud of his face. He really did give off the air of someone restless - he must have been getting up at all sorts of hours these last few weeks.  
  
"How of things been with you?" Heero stared at him, then the door behind him.  
  
"Nothing. Lady Une had to talk to me." Duo backed up and picked up both sweater and suitcase, nodding while prodding the door open once he got passed the identification system. Heero followed after, flapping his shirt to loosen some of the water from it.  
  
"Is she kicking you out for squatting or something?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then what?" Duo glanced back at Duo pointedly. "Let's not forget detail, buddy."  
  
Stopping, Heero suddenly bent over and shook out his hair. Dark, dark brown spilled over, rain droplets spraying the walls to either side. He had been out there a long time, but even so, he had gotten his wind back relatively quick. Straightening, his hair now in a wild and crazy state, he picked up after Duo.  
  
"She asked me to take on one more assignment before leaving." Duo expressed his being puzzled through a quick twist and quirk of the mouth.   
  
"It's to bring Relena back, in May." Duo turned around quickly and Heero halted.  
  
"Before the school year ends?"  
  
"Yes." Freezing for a moment, Duo could only give a wondering little raise of the shoulders before twisting back around and walking again. Behind him, the squelching that was Heero's shoes came after.  
  
"Funny. Is something going to happen?"  
  
"Nigeria is going to declare itself independent of the Earth Sphere United Nations and will refuse any means of aligning themselves with it. Somewhat based on fascism."   
  
His feet jerked to a quick stop and the suitcase was lowered to the ground. Eyes pained and face squeezed together in reproach and pity, he rubbed cold, gummy hands together in an attempt not to feel as cold as he did then.  
  
"That's disastrous."  
  
"Maybe not as bad as you think."   
  
Duo barely moved his head to the sound of Heero's indifferent voice.  
  
"Relena will be really torn up about this-"  
  
"She'll get passed it." Duo licked his lips, darting a look down the darkened hall in front of them.  
  
"You have that much faith in her ability?"  
  
"Of course." The reply was instantaneous. Duo couldn't help but give his friend a bewildered look of pain.  
  
"How can you say that? She is going to come home to this and you won't even chance the thought of her being human?"  
  
"She's strong, she can fight this." Clearing his throat, Heero decided to change the subject once he reminded Duo not to bring this up under any other form of company, which he agreed to. "Duo, there is something that requires your help."  
  
  
  
Relena bobbed her head up and down, one hand to her forehead to keep it from falling to the wooden surface of her desk. She kept her hair from falling around her work by hanging onto it with her other hand. In this odd and inefficient position she read till an hour was up, at which point she did stretch. A cramp bounded up in her neck as though yelping "You found me!" and she gave few mumblings.  
  
The shiver that could not be helped raced down her spine like a mouse with very cold little feet. Swallowing, she reached for the next report - or what she called the fact sheets sent to her daily now. Updates on the latest bit of need-to-know data that could be sent.  
  
She and every member of the ESUN on her level of rank and above received these. Although they almost never had anything uplifting to them, the daily report was important and a necessity to the management of world affairs.  
  
How ridiculous that sometimes sounded. World affairs, agendas - almost as silly as someone of official rank to be thought of as an equal in ornamental use as royalty. Royals barely had an effect on anything these days, one of the reasons she had refused to stay as Queen Relena Peacecraft. Another reason why she had taken on Darlian as her official last name instead of the one signifying her true heredity.  
  
It was even worse when they were thought of as a celebrity. Political leaders, although an exception to tabloid articles, were not a must at chit-chat conversations as, say, the latest murder was. Relena was not a celebrity, although she was confused into the image of one through her former heritage.  
  
Admittedly, she was a Peacecraft by blood and family ties, but to the world and to herself she was a Darlian. No one would ever call her "Princess" or "Queen" for the rest of her life and over her dead body - it was a title she did not need and more importantly, had no use of.  
  
And to hear what she was hearing from all sources she had and held, to be given the information that she was given on what was happening, made her feel very small. She felt herself flush and thought of Cinq, thought of the Earth Sphere United Nations, thought of -   
  
How could she accept any form of truce between them, her allies and herself, and the newly redone Nation of Africa? It was impossible. The army they were bringing together and the basic armaments and arsenals being rebuilt had her rebuke the last hope and effort she had had.  
  
Someone had suggested appeasement. What could they give to the NA that would make them stop overstepping their given boundaries and the make wel the illegal overthrow of their ESUN membership? No one really knew anything about their purpose other than their not agreeing to any of Relena's views.  
  
As though this alone did not disturb her. They, as though they were a well-to-do force to be reckoned with, had demanded a national convention in which she and some others would come to recognize the new country. In their surge of power and governmental responsibility they had grown much too sure of themselves.  
  
Setting aside all she had read already Relena stood up on shaky legs. The resource Nigeria held, their easy access to the ocean, did give them an advantage. But it was the kind that gave them only a limited amount of safety and just a medium-sized advantage. Even with the expansion of territory what could they have to intimidate anyone into bending other than extreme sureness?  
  
Relena, hand now gripping the back of the couch, steeled her eyes and picked herself up into a straighter position. No slouching, now. She stared at the back of the front door from where she stood in the living room and her upper lip lifted in a tiny, disdainful snarl.  
  
She had never really felt this small or angry. Perhaps putting the two together was overexaggerated - she had only gotten the heap of information an hour and a half ago and most likely only felt the way she did because she could not vent any other way. Or rather, she did not feel to vent any other way.  
  
"There will not be an appeasement." She said flatly. "No truce, no treaty, no being allies, no appeasements or suggestions made. This is the time of peace, and an army is a disruptive, callous move on peace. There will be no appeasement!"  
  
  
  
Was everything packed? Duo glanced over his one piece of luggage, already fitted, zipped close and locked. The bed he had slept in was bare but for the mattress on its wooden frame, a bundle of used sheets and covers set against the back of the door. He had taken what belonged to him from the bathroom - Heero would have to get his shaver - and checked under the bed. Nothing seemed left behind.  
  
If he had, Heero would not bother sending it unless the supposed item was of some importance and then, only if he was aware of it. His own personal things consisted of what was tucked into the closet, lying on some spare shelves set up for a minimal amount of supplies. He had less necessities than was reassuring, but seemed to get along just fine with his few belongings.  
  
Heero, meanwhile, lay on his bed. The room was meant to house three people, but the added space was unused by either him or Duo. Adjacent to the bedroom was a bathroom as small as Heero's own. With his arms under his head, lying on his back, Heero stared up at the ceiling, listening but not watching Duo's preparations of leaving.  
  
"Do you know how long we've been gone altogether?" Duo asked over his shoulder, now dragging the full suitcase out of the way. "I wasn't even expecting the hold-up..."  
  
He stood up, resting his hands on his hips and arching his back over backwards. Clucking to himself, he gave one more survey of the area before hefting himself onto Heero's bed next to the silent figure on it. Crossing his legs under himself Indian-style and clasping his bare toes in his hands, he rocked lightly back and forth.  
  
"Are you coming with me?"  
  
"No." Heero's voice was subdued; he did not feel up to giving his friend whole answers consisting of more than three words. Duo bobbed his head, more in tune to something in his mind than anything else.  
  
"You're going to take that assignment for sure, then?"  
  
"Yes." Duo stopped rocking.  
  
"Then why won't you tell me what kind of a favor you need from me?" Heero's eyes remained on the ceiling.  
  
"It's not asking a favor."  
  
"Yes it is." Heero brought his up enough to give a short glare at Duo, his head craned at such an uncomfortable position that he only kept it up for another moment before letting it drop on the bed again - he never really used the pillow given to him.  
  
"I need to know how to dance."  
  
Duo wrinkled his face in confusion.  
  
"You know how to dance better than I do, Heero."  
  
"Not that kind of dance." Heero muttered. "The other kind."  
  
At first, Duo's expression was blank and somehow preoccupied, but his slow grin was inevitable and he started rocking again. Heero shoved himself up on his elbows and stared evenly at him with a stony expression, mouth pressed into a strict line.  
  
"You want to know how to boogey, you mean?" Duo asked in his sly tone.  
  
"Not want, need."  
  
"Need how?" Heero shook his head slightly, propping himself up a little   
farther.  
  
"Can't say."  
  
"Hmm." Duo sadly looked over his friend, swinging one knee up to rest the crook of an arm on. "I don't think you have the ability to be that loose."  
  
Sighing, Heero pushed himself up till his back rested against the wall. The beds did not have back boards, so he could lean his head up, neck bending back, his hair falling from his eyes.  
  
"That doesn't matter."  
  
For a moment, they stared at each other, Duo with his head turned, Heero from the strange angle of looking down at his friend with his shoulders hunched. Then, Duo slowly eased from his position and crouched over to Heero on all fours, staring at and into his eyes.  
  
"You really want to know how to dance?" He asked quietly, thickly.  
  
"Yes." The invasion of personal space went over Heero's head as Duo just inched closer.  
  
"Then..." Duo swung an arm around Heero's head, bringing his forearm to jam into his friends' throat and making him give a hoarse cough. "Kiss me, boy!"  
  
A strong, quick shove sent him back to the end of the bed. Stumbling, Duo fell over the edge and fell. With his back on the ground sprawling, legs still on the bed, arms eagle-spread around him, he gave a loud laugh.  
  
"If you get a radio, I'll teach you how to boogey." He rolled over on his side and peeked over the edge of the mattress happily. "You're an exciting guy, Heero, can you blame me?"  
  
"I'll mention it to Hilde next time." Heero said broodingly. This brought out another barking laugh from Duo, who raised his fingers to his forehead and dipped his head back to enjoy the precious moment.  
  
"You could join her as one of my concubines!"  
  
"In that case, you're getting the radio." Heero muttered lowly. Duo poked his nose over the mattress again.  
  
"Don't abuse my sarcasm."  
  
Heero glared before turning on his side and letting his body slip back down to the mattress. Closing his eyes, he kicked out Duo again.  
  
"You might be needed somewhere else, so leave." Duo hefted himself up to his knees, standing up and dusting himself off from his late fall. With a musing glance at Heero he went to the door. His laughter had been quelled and he was a little more reserved at the moment.  
  
"Meet my at noon in room twelve." He said before leaving.  
  
"Yeah." Heero mumbled, ignorant of whether Duo could or could not hear him.  
  
"Bring a radio, too."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
  
  
  
Stumper. Damn. Oh well, before this officially ends, everyone must, just once, listen to the song "White Reflection" because it is an experience.  
  
I purr loudly at every review - all commentary is gladly accepted! 


	16. Ch.16 Defiance

Disclaimer: *Disclaimer implodes* Usual applies.  
  
I have a dedication this time, hurray! *Boogey boogey boogey*  
  
Dedication: To every single soul that has read and reviewed - it all means a great deal to me.  
  
  
  
"Relena, focus." Io said firmly.  
  
"I am." She sounded earnest enough, although her forehead was pressed to the table surface to keep from looking up at anything.  
  
"Would you look at this then?" Naturally, he was getting impatient.  
  
"No." She repeated. Davis gave a nonsensical swat at Io's arm and he looked at her warily, the corners of his mouth drooping.  
  
"Leave her alone, Io."  
  
"I would appreciate more of your help at any other time, Davis, but not at this moment - Relena, would you look up from the table?" He ordered.  
  
"Not if it has anything to do with that settlement pact." She replied with a small shake of her head.  
  
The door to the room opened quietly, given away only by high-pitched creak of unoiled hinges. Davis, watching her charges expressionlessly, was the only one to turn at the sound. Disdain marked her eyes as they narrowed at the newcomer now seating herself at the table.  
  
"Am I interrupting something?" Davis shook her head at the question.  
  
"No."  
  
"No?" Came the mild remark. Davis lay her hands on the desk they were gathered around, feeling irrationally cramped by the new presence in the room.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"This is my area of expertise and I was ordered to come."  
  
"Then don't look so smug, we were not argueing."  
  
Dorothy set her mouth into a straight line, her eyes digging into Davis' with her own form of malice. She set what she had brought with her onto the table before leaning on it toward Relena. Relena, forehead on the backs of her hands, refused to sit up correctly and Io was looking a little peeved.  
  
She grabbed the settlement from his outstretched hand and looked it over. After reading what must have been no more than a page and a half she laid it down with an inaudible little gurgle.  
  
"Oh, Miss Relena, the possibilities!" At that point Relena did raise her head, staring up squarely into Dorothy's expectant face.  
  
"No," She said flatly, "This is exactly were an unchangeable error could occur." Io slumped a little farther in his seat, the paper now in his lap where Dorothy had let it fall.  
  
Dorothy, unaware of the uncomfortable strain she had caused among the others, sat down directly opposite Relena and lay her hands over the girls'.  
  
"It will give you room for negotiation! Why not, Miss Relena, give this country a chance?" She asked tonelessly - almost so much it seemed like she was teasing. Relena indicated the papers in Io's lap with a quick tug of her head.  
  
"You know very well why, Dorothy: Nigeria would never settle. It wants some sort of supremity under militaristic rule. I cannot let that happen!"  
  
Dorothy's smile tilted, proving that the underlying meaning of her prodding was of personal accord. Her eyes peered at Davis and Io each before settling on her Relena again, who now sat perfectly straight again with her fingers bent crookedly. Dorothy intertwined their fingers imploringly.  
  
"Come now, Miss Relena, must I coax?" Relena gave a bitter smile, her mind on the appeasement contract rather than Dorothy's joke.  
  
"You would never make a fool of yourself in front of anyone, Dorothy - and you would not lie." Relena slid her fingers from Dorothy. "Especially to me."  
  
Davis looked from one to the other in bewilderment, discontent with the ease with which Dorothy handled Relena and feeling upset with their odd relationship. She quickly took her cue in the pause that followed.  
  
"Would you be direct, Darlian?" She grumbled. Dorothy's head cocked to the side nearest her.  
  
"Read between the lines, Minister Davis. Relena will not give in." Dorothy murmured loudly, spelling the words out with irritating precision. Davis curled her arms across her chest.  
  
"I am glad to hear this, although I would like to know in which way she will tell the Earth Sphere she is set against this." Relena's breath whistled out between tightly-held lips.  
  
"That should be easy enough, most of the Earth Sphere United Nations is against this. I am just another member on their side."  
  
"A member with much dependence of the public in her favor!" Io mixed it with a crushed expression, expasterated. Minister Davis waved him off with her hand to stay him. Then, she turned towards Relena again.  
  
"Each has to give a solid reason: list yours." Davis prompted readily.  
  
Relena nodded, rubbed her knuckles together quickly, and took a short breath.  
  
"This breach of contract is illegal as well as not in sync with Pacifist laws. According to the Disarmament plan set nine months ago Earth has twenty years before all forms of arms are irradicated: the Colonies have twenty three because of recent problecations in the system. When this was set and proposed, Nigeria had agreed to its terms and began the first steps of disarmament.  
  
"Now, they want to build on militarism and this is just what we have all worked forward to in order to prevent. I cannot let them get away with annexing neutral countries and inhabiting their land by force and - and intimidation!" Breath in, breath out. A very blunt tone took to her voice during what she spoke next.  
  
"And frankly, neither can you." She slapped the palm of her hand against the surface of the table, caught up in her own, private moment. "How can we be for the people and peace if this slides by? We cannot unless we're willing to call ourselves violators of their trust and liars!"  
  
The heat with which she had said this made Io sit back. The papers, as though it were acting as a foreshadowing, slipped from his lap onto the ground unseen. From her chair Davis leaned forward, a strange, anxious grin on her aging face. Her hands formed fists, squeezing together, but she seemed extremely glad. Relena's outspoken tendencies was one of the things that enabled her to do her job the way she did.  
  
The only other person in the room seemed dissatisfied but in agreement. She bobbed her head lightly, eyes closed somewhat tightly, lips pressed together in a straight line. She seemed to have a headache and pressed five fingertips to her skin.   
  
"She's right." She whispered. "We cannot expect her to agree to something that is wrong." Io turned to her in distraught annoyance.  
  
"It is not wrong, she just does not agree." Relena pulled in closer to the table, glancing from Io to Dorothy and prepared to begin another onslaught on the distainful settlement.   
  
Dorothy stood up and planted her hands on the table with a 'smack' type of sound, head bent and hair falling around her face as the tension around her peaked.  
  
"Yes, she is." She gestured toward Relena, now still and frozen where she was opposite the others. "Minister Io, with all due respect, this is the one politician who cannot lie and will not disappoint anyone if she can help it. And what she is saying is correct.  
  
"She will not change her mind and she won't bend. Although I, as War Tactics Specialist, find my being here unnecessary I seem to be the one responsible for convincing you of this. She is right. Unless you want the faith everyone has put into the organization to drop, listen to her."  
  
"But if we don't compromise somehow this might turn violent."  
  
"Pacifist ways are not something learned easily, Minister Io." Dorothy reminded in a catty way, now eyeing him from behind her wall of blonde.  
  
"This settlement can be negotiated, as you said beforehand - "He replied promptly, "And Cinq is the model of compromise and peace. We must show we that we mean to keep this peace at all costs!"  
  
"And that is why I am making this decision and why I am not going to change! We must show that Cinq will not fall to old tricks simply to patch together a form of peace!" Relena cried, her fingers cramping and uncramping as she gestured.  
  
"Miss Relena, although I understand the truth of what you're doing - "  
  
"No Dorothy, I know how you feel about war, or how you once felt about it." She said curtly, interrupting Dorothy with the flat of her hand held up in the air. "And no. War will not come. I am flat set against it."  
  
With a sigh the blonde retreated back to her seat. True, Miss Relena was doing what the world needed - that time after peace was such a confusing, belittling period in which people needed rest. But, as she held onto the belief that people could not help but fight, but rile against each other and cry for the other's blood, the excitement of war would come if not then, maybe in a few decades.  
  
As was the fashion these days she agreed. Even during the war she   
had agreed that peace was necessary - in her own way. Although war was, without a doubt, more exciting and filled with many purposeful possibilities for people like her, the chance for it occur so soon again with talents such as the Earth Sphere United Alliance around was highly doubtful.  
  
Her livelihood for the arguement ebbed. Davis, finding this loophole in the conversation a lucky chance, edged in and set her elbows on the table.  
  
"As much as these forewarnings and alarms are needed, we cannot say that war is going to break out if we don't sign this settlement." Io gave a dreary sigh, feeling the pang of defeat.  
  
"But it is a start, an excuse."   
  
"One which we will have to meed head-on." She sucked in her breath when she added, "I suggest we meet them head-on, as well."   
  
Relena, quiet before, perked her ears in interest.  
  
"In what way?" Davis licked her upper lip quickly.  
  
"The end of May could be scheduled as a nationally-wide held conference of powers - we could meet with representatives of the Nation of Africa and go from there. It would take some planning, especially on such short notice - "  
  
("They didn't give anyone much of a warning themselves." Dorothy muttered thickly).  
  
" - and remember, each of us has a different opinion whereas only a few may talk and speak the state of mind of the Earth Sphere United Alliance. We are going to have to choose our own diplomats in the situation to represent us."  
  
Relena reached across the table hurriedly, grabbing the planner from Davis' suitcase and leafing through it. It was the agenda for general events to come in the next three with given dates. Finding the page she was thinking of, she turned it around so the rest of the party could read the slot she was keeping a finger on.  
  
"How about then?" Davis forced back a grump.  
  
"That would be a little rushed."  
  
"Doesn't matter. The sooner - "  
  
"Fine." Davis turned in her seat to regard her partner in cabinet expectantly. Io sighed. "Well?"  
  
"I'll see to the preparations." He picked up the dismal packet of papers near his feet. "Quite frankly, though I found this predicament somewhat unreasonable, I agree. There are better alternatives."  
  
Relena smiled, most likely for the first time in the last hour if not ever since she had come from Canada. Dorothy watched this expression curiously, finding Relena oddly spirited that evening - what with her break-out of arguements. She was usually more reserved, sometimes even detached. To know that such a tongue lived in her mouth was...pleasurable.  
  
Dorothy picked up her things and shook hands with the members present.  
  
"It has been a joy, surprisingly. Thank you for the entertaining vigor tonight, Miss Relena." She spoke sincerely, although her tone was wry. Relena gave a shrug.  
  
"Of course, Dorothy, anytime."  
  
  
  
With but three days before his shuttle left, Duo found his new student a very uncooperative pupil - coordinated, technically good on his feet and talented in learning the steps quickly, but otherwise spiritless.  
  
He had been everything from instructor to fellow classmate to dancing partner: Heero told him on multiple occasions that he had mastered ballroom dancing some time ago and that, considering their limited time for practice, he thought it wise to move on to other subjects.  
  
Duo was simply stalling: he wondered what difficulties they would come up against when they began the art of 'boogying.' Heero's mechanical and even simple moves were made solely from much practice without any real feeling in any of it.  
  
But at one point, it became obvious that Heero's lagging was due to boredome. Duo prided himself on being a very spontaneous, fun character whose jolly qualities gave him a kick others lacked and envied him for. The second day, he urged Heero out of bed at an unusually early hour, a small radio at his feet. Upon turning, giving Heero a somewhat snide remark on being slow, he tripped over the little machine and landed on his knee caps with all his body weight.  
  
Bow-legged, and carrying the radio, he walked Heero down the hall to the fencing court. Setting the radio off to the wall and fixing the controls on it, he explained the lesson while Heero glanced around. The court was spacious and he actually felt some regret at never having bothered to come.  
  
The sound of abrupt music so early in the day made him tense. Behind him, he heard the pad-pad of Duo's stomping to the rythm. With an energized whoop he threw his arms around Duo's shoulders and twisted him in a circle, hanging on the whole while.  
  
"This is what boogying is all about!" Unlatching himself from Heero's neck the boy trotted offk, his braid now whipping against his back with extreme force. "Fast-paced and foreign! There isn't much better!"  
  
Heero stretched his arms over his head, reaching, reaching...  
  
Settling back into a normal stance, Heero set his fists on his hips and watched Duo take a place just a few steps from him.  
  
"Okay, Heero, show me what you got."  
  
Heero glanced over at the radio, and back at Duo.  
  
"Is this the correct pace with which to dance to?" He sounded concerned and Duo's shoulders drooped.  
  
"If you want to cop a feel, yes." Heero glared. Duo grumbled, upset of his distrust. "Of course it is - just never mind the jokes, you wouldn't understand the humor anyway..."  
  
"Fine. But I need a partner." He said this while advancing with his arms held out.   
  
To him, it did not matter. Dancing was like a sport, if less of an exercise than one. As long as he was learning he could have been dancing with a Giraffe and been just as content with any progress made. Duo, on the other hand, shook his head: he had had enough of being in the female position.  
  
"No, Heero, this does not require a partner. You dance on your own opposite someone." Heero stopped, retreated, and planted himself squarely across from Duo with is arms crossed and legs splayed sturdily.  
  
"In that case, how exactly does this work?" Duo squelched his face together, almost sneering.  
  
"What, you want me to show you?" He bated, unsure.   
  
"Yes, that might be informational." Snorting, Duo bobbed his head disarmingly.  
  
"Stiff." Duo jerked his chin in the direction of the radio. "Turn the knob back and increase the sound."  
  
Doing as he had been directed, Heero stood off to the side while Duo concentrated. Seeing as how this type of dance did not require any set rules, he did not think to see his friend in such a state of concentration. Really, he had thought this to be easier - but underestimation did everyone in.  
  
Duo was much better at...this, then he was at Heero's specialty. Keeping time to the music with his feet and movements, Duo seemed to stray to every corner of a forty foot square piece of area in a matter of seconds. After some thinking Heero turned the knob to the sound to its highest level: the walls were more or less soundproof and none of the Preventer staff had their rooms nearby, ensuring enough time for him to learn something new.  
  
This way, they were alone without anyone to interrupt them and Duo could display his skill without intervension.  
  
Duo's hips swung and he sidestepped neatly. He had on clothes much like Heero's, exchanging the sleeveless top for a loose shirt, this allowing him to move freely. His head bowed, he began to arch and dance on the palms of his feet: at a peak in the song he leaped and Heero watched with deepening interest.  
  
The practiced focus of being that activity and not simply performing it was, admittedly, a capturing sight. Duo shook out his shoulders, threw his head, shook his shoulders, twisted. His braid often slammed him in the side and Heero, being a reasonably good visionary learner, imagined a girl dancing along with him to complete the effect. Unknowingly giving her long hair in his mind, he had her stand just two feet across from his friend - this seeming to be the appropriate distance.  
  
With some difficulty he managed to conjure up some sort of likeness to dance opposite his friend. Each gyrated motion or pranced stepped she did as well to keep in time. Duo gave himself over not just to dance but to his body: the sheen of sweat brightened under the ugly, harsh light above them and his eyes were squeezed shut. Heero frowned; although he had nothing to trip over, was dancing without seeing at all sensible?  
  
Duo crossed his arms over his torso while Heero mused from the sidelines, stepping up onto his toes and dancing to the left. The imagined vision of the girl followed; Duo's shirt, upon his jump to spring around in a full body twist, was seen clinging to his shoulders and lower back.  
  
The music, he noticed, was getting quieter. Duo's ragged breathing become louder in the waning of the song but he continued the wild arching, jerking and spirited spinning that marked his style of dance.  
  
Whoever was singing gave one last yell and Duo stopped in mid-spin, on his toes again, hands pinned behind him, head rolled to the side. He gave a sputter, shook himself loose again, and dried his hands on his pant leg. The vision of a girl disappeared once Heero caught the eye of his friend. Long hair fluttered and left.  
  
With a grin Duo trotted over to Heero, asking him to pause the tape for further instructions. Heero did so, after which he stood waiting for Duo to tell him how to do what he had just done - surely that only took a needed amount of concentration, something he could certainly make work.  
  
"Now then," Duo clapped his hand and pointed to the court, "Show me what you learned from that."  
  
Heero stared at him expressionlessly. After what seemed to be thoughtful hesitance he stepped out, pondering on just where to start. Coming to a point on the floor where he deemed it well to start, Heero turned around with his hands behind his back and stared at Duo expectantly. His hair, yet unbrushed, still shadowed most of the upper region of his face and Duo could not make out much above the tip of his nose. He cleared his throat: one finger was about to press on the button to start the music up again and he was waiting for Heero to take on some type of stance to start with. Yet, without any sign of moving from his position, Duo was feeling some impatience.  
  
"Well?" Heero's head bent down a little as though he were trying to catch Duo's words easier that way.  
  
"What should I do?" Duo staggered, stricken with disbelief.  
  
"Are you really that helpless?" Heero turned his face to the ceiling, baring his throat, his hair brushing the nape of his neck.  
  
"I am not used to this freelance pattern of dancing," He said, loudly enough for the sound of his voice to carry over, "Helpless, no, uneducated in the field, though, yes."  
  
Rasping a small growl of discomfort Duo started the music with a jab of his finger, twisting the sound to its highest placement once again and marching to stand beside Heero some two feet away.  
  
"Fine, I'll teach you step by step."  
  
"Synchronization?" Duo straightened and lifted his chin, Heero copying him studiously, eyeing him severely.  
  
"Sort of." He said slowly. "Now, listen to the music and try to give this your own style. We can't do this if you act robotical." He swung his hips around and held his arms out in front of him again. "Got it?"  
  
Heero did not reply, rather considering the strange hopping of his friend. The music was brought to the foreground in his conscious, as Duo said he should do, and he hoped to learn something from that beat. Otherwise, the past two days of this odd studying would not be worth much.  
  
Duo had a life to him that Heero could only manage through much concentration. Here was not the problem. While Duo knew what to do Heero floundered around, his motions halted by inexperience, thoughts fettered with watching Duo and performing the stunts correctly at the same time.  
  
At some point down the line he gave that up, leaving Duo to his peripheral vision while he stared at the wall. The music, now different from the former to which Duo had first moved to, was slower but at least more understandable. Now more gibberish of lyrics. (Farther into the lesson Heero thought Duo to have taken a ballet course, as well, seeing the fluidity of his movements. It irked him more than he thought wise). 


	17. Ch.16 (CONT.) The Dance Lesson

Disclaimer: *Disclaimer goes "Uff!"* Usual applies.  
  
Here's the other part of Ch.17 - enjoy, liebchens! Thanks for the patience.  
  
  
  
With but three days before his shuttle left, Duo found his new student a very uncooperative pupil - coordinated, technically good on his feet and talented in learning the steps quickly, but otherwise spiritless.  
  
He had been everything from instructor to fellow classmate to dancing partner: Heero told him on multiple occasions that he had mastered ballroom dancing some time ago and that, considering their limited time for practice, he thought it wise to move on to other subjects. Duo was simply stalling: he wondered what difficulties they would come up against when they began the art of 'boogying.' Heero's mechanical and even simple moves were made solely from much practice without any real feeling in any of it.  
  
But at one point, it became obvious that Heero's lagging was due to boredome. Duo prided himself on being a very spontaneous, fun character whose jolly qualities gave him a kick others lacked and envied him for. The second day, he urged Heero out of bed at an unusually early hour, a small radio at his feet. Upon turning, giving Heero a somewhat snide remark on being slow, he tripped over the little machine and landed on his knee caps with all his body weight.  
  
Bow-legged, and carrying the radio, he walked Heero down the hall to the fencing court. Setting the radio off to the wall and fixing the controls on it, he explained the lesson while Heero glanced around. The court was spacious and he actually felt some regret at never having bothered to come. The sound of abrupt music so early in the day made him tense. Behind him, he heard the pad-pad of Duo's stomping to the rythm. With an energized whoop he threw his arms around Heero's shoulders and twisted him in a circle, hanging on the whole while.  
  
"This is what boogying is all about!" Unlatching himself from Heero's neck the boy trotted off, his braid now whipping against his back with extreme force. "Fast-paced and foreign! There isn't much better!"  
  
Heero stretched his arms over his head, reaching, reaching...  
  
Settling back into a normal stance, Heero set his fists on his hips and watched Duo take a place just a few steps from him.  
  
"Okay, Heero, show me what you got."  
  
Heero glanced over at the radio, and back at Duo.  
  
"Is this the correct pace with which to dance to?" He sounded concerned and Duo's shoulders drooped.  
  
"If you want to cop a feel, yes." Heero glared. Duo grumbled, upset of his distrust. "Of course it is - just never mind the jokes, you wouldn't understand the humor anyway..."  
  
"Fine. But I need a partner." He said this while advancing with his arms held out.   
  
To him, it did not matter. Dancing was like a sport, if less of an exercise than one. As long as he was learning he could have been dancing with a Giraffe and been just as content with any progress made. Duo, on the other hand, shook his head: he had had enough of being in the female position.  
  
"No, Heero, this does not require a partner. You dance on your own opposite someone." Heero stopped, retreated, and planted himself squarely across from Duo with is arms crossed and legs splayed sturdily.  
  
"In that case, how exactly does this work?" Duo squelched his face together, almost sneering.  
  
"What, you want me to show you?" He bated, unsure.   
  
"Yes, that might be informational." Snorting, Duo bobbed his head disarmingly.  
  
"Stiff." Duo jerked his chin in the direction of the radio. "Turn the knob back and increase the sound."  
  
Doing as he had been directed, Heero stood off to the side while Duo concentrated. Seeing as how this type of dance did not require any set rules, he did not think to see his friend in such a state of concentration. Really, he had thought this to be easier - but underestimation did everyone in.  
  
Duo was much better at...this, then he was at Heero's specialty. Keeping time to the music with his feet and movements, Duo seemed to stray to every corner of a forty foot square piece of area in a matter of seconds. After some thinking Heero turned the knob to the sound to its highest level: the walls were more or less soundproof and none of the Preventer staff had their rooms nearby, ensuring enough time for him to learn something new.  
  
This way, they were alone without anyone to interrupt them and Duo could display his skill without intervension.  
  
Duo's hips swung and he sidestepped neatly. He had on clothes much like Heero's, exchanging the sleeveless top for a loose shirt, this allowing him to move freely. His head bowed, he began to arch and dance on the palms of his feet: at a peak in the song he leaped and Heero watched with deepening interest.  
  
The practiced focus of being that activity and not simply performing it was, admittedly, a capturing sight. Duo shook out his shoulders, threw his head, shook his shoulders, twisted. His braid often slammed him in the side and Heero, being a reasonably good visionary learner, imagined a girl dancing along with him to complete the effect. Unknowingly giving her long hair in his mind, he had her stand just two feet across from his friend - this seeming to be the appropriate distance.  
  
With some difficulty he managed to conjure up some sort of likeness to dance opposite his friend. Each gyrated motion or pranced stepped she did as well to keep in time. Duo gave himself over not just to dance but to his body: the sheen of sweat brightened under the ugly, harsh light above them and his eyes were squeezed shut. Heero frowned; although he had nothing to trip over, was dancing without seeing at all sensible?  
  
Duo crossed his arms over his torso while Heero mused from the sidelines, stepping up onto his toes and dancing to the left. The imagined vision of the girl followed; Duo's shirt, upon his jump to spring around in a full body twist, was seen clinging to his shoulders and lower back.  
  
The music, he noticed, was getting quieter. Duo's ragged breathing become louder in the waning of the song but he continued the wild arching, jerking and spirited spinning that marked his style of dance.  
  
Whoever was singing gave one last yell and Duo stopped in mid-spin, on his toes again, hands pinned behind him, head rolled to the side. He gave a sputter, shook himself loose again, and dried his hands on his pant leg. The vision of a girl disappeared once Heero caught the eye of his friend. Long hair fluttered and left.  
  
With a grin Duo trotted over to Heero, asking him to pause the tape for further instructions. Heero did so, after which he stood waiting for Duo to tell him how to do what he had just done - surely that only took a needed amount of concentration, something he could certainly make work.  
  
"Now then," Duo clapped his hand and pointed to the court, "Show me what you learned from that."  
  
Heero stared at him expressionlessly. After what seemed to be thoughtful hesitance he stepped out, pondering on just where to start. Coming to a point on the floor where he deemed it well to start, Heero turned around with his hands behind his back and stared at Duo expectantly. His hair, yet unbrushed, still shadowed most of the upper region of his face and Duo could not make out much above the tip of his nose. He cleared his throat: one finger was about to press on the button to start the music up again and he was waiting for Heero to take on some type of stance to start with. Yet, without any sign of moving from his position, Duo was feeling some impatience.  
  
"Well?" Heero's head bent down a little as though he were trying to catch Duo's words easier that way.  
  
"What should I do?" Duo staggered, stricken with disbelief.  
  
"Are you really that helpless?" Heero turned his face to the ceiling, baring his throat, his hair brushing the nape of his neck.  
  
"I am not used to this freelance pattern of dancing," He said, loudly enough for the sound of his voice to carry over, "Helpless, no, uneducated in the field, though, yes."  
  
Rasping a small growl of discomfort Duo started the music with a jab of his finger, twisting the sound to its highest placement once again and marching to stand beside Heero some two feet away.  
  
"Fine, I'll teach you step by step."  
  
"Synchronization?" Duo straightened and lifted his chin, Heero copying him studiously, eyeing him severely.  
  
"Sort of." He said slowly. "Now, listen to the music and try to give this your own style. We can't do this if you act robotical." He swung his hips around and held his arms out in front of him again. "Got it?"  
  
Heero did not reply, rather considering the strange hopping of his friend. The music was brought to the foreground in his conscious, as Duo said he should do, and he hoped to learn something from that beat. Otherwise, the past two days of this odd studying would not be worth much.  
  
Duo had a life to him that Heero could only manage copying through much concentration. Here was not the problem, though. While Duo knew what to do Heero floundered around, his motions halted by inexperience, thoughts fettered with watching Duo and performing the stunts correctly at the same time.  
  
At some point down the line he gave that up, leaving Duo to his peripheral vision while he stared at the wall. The music, now different from the former to which Duo had first moved to, was slower but at least more understandable. Now more gibberish of lyrics. (Farther into the lesson Heero thought Duo to have taken a ballet course, as well, seeing the fluidity of his movements. It irked him more than he thought wise).  
  
In due time Heero found a niche in the music he had not thought he would find. Much like the other activities he took to that required his body to the fullest, dancing gradually became a release. Duo would have jokingly said that Heero danced to keep from death - his feet twisted dangerously while everything else he did was aggressive and calculated.  
  
It was as much a personalized-style as Duo could have moved Heero to discover. Maybe something not so cold would come about later, but it was a certain start on which to build on. Heero did not care about Duo's approval, though, only interesting in the bountiful ways of this form of dance.  
  
Maybe an hour later, while, they finished up and Duo paused the music to take a break, chortling of the most infuriating kind reached them from the main entrance to the training room.  
  
Gloved hands clapping ostentatiously, helmet under the crook of an arm, and leaning against the doorpost was Dorothy Catalonia. Her slightly smug expression found itself in her eyes alone: the rest of her face was emotionless. She stopped clapping once their attention was hers to play with.  
  
She walked in, clearing her throat. Clasping her hands behind her, a fencing tool latched to her hip over the training suit she wore, she gave them a detached and meaningless smile.  
  
"I hadn't thought someone would be up so early. Setting the mood for the Preventers, are we?" She nodded to Duo. "I see your back."   
  
Duo shook his head, very much wanting to peel his shirt from his body and let himself dry. He thought doing so in front of anyone like Dorothy might turn into an uncomfortable situation, so he stewed in his thoughts and watched, only nodding when she gave him her empty greeting.  
  
Heero, though, possessed little modesty faced with her and stripped. Using his shirt as a towel he dried his shoulders, underarms and chest, all the while staring sideways at Dorothy in a silent dare for her to come any nearer than she already was.  
  
Settling her weight onto one hip she watched the two cockily, head tilted, one hand finding its way to the hilt of her saber.  
  
She had hoped to come before the training hall was full and practice with it - the saber, a family heirloom brought from the Catalonian estate in Spain, was hers and not just any training equipment. As was tradition it had been given to the more dominant descendants of the family's bloodline and she had been accepted into the responsibility of caring for it early on.  
  
Now, she would have to wait, wanting only her privacy and not feeling up to sharing the space with the other two. Granted, it was large, but now it did not feel large enough.  
  
Taking the saber's hilt into her hand, she turned her eyes from Duo and Heero and fondly swung it, testing the familiar balance of it in her hold. Glancing up from under thick eyelashes at them, a slow grin spread across her mouth. The saber bounced in her nimble hand and she lifted it, at the same time lifting her chin, to meet their stares boldly.  
  
She wanted to practice hacking away with her saber, something it had been made to do. She could not. She wanted to find another way of carrying herself from inner problems she was not even sure existed through mind-boggling exercise, and could not.  
  
Dorothy did not, and never had, really cared for the prim and proper behavior people took on when fencing in a duel with each other: Treize and Zechs Marquise had seemed most comfortable with it, acknowledging it as an honest, respectful way to sort out personal spats, but she felt incredibly restrained when using the slim foils provided.  
  
The saber was for slashing and hacking: it demanded a certain amount of trained, experienced recklessness, something a fencing duel did not require and actually forbid. That was her kind of fighting, though, and she had grown attached to the tool she now rubbed her thumb against so deftly.  
  
Turning on her heel, she marched off from then, returning the saber to its holster and going left sharply before disappearing from their view. Duo exhaled, relieved: Heero stared after her thoughtfully, unconvinced of something that shadowed his mind and his own personal life before he shook them off and rubbed his hair roughly with his shirt.  
  
"She is really frightening sometimes: I thought she'd try to run us through for fun there." Duo muttered. "'Glad she left."  
  
"She was too preoccupied to care much; I think she had only wanted to get away from something." Duo's head swerved to meet Heero's vague and distanced eyes.  
  
"You'd be the one to her understand her. You're alike in some ways."  
  
Heero snapped around to stare back at Duo.  
  
"In some ways, yes." He repeated. Duo shadowed his eyes from the perspiration that went down his face, half-closing them against the strong lighting: rolling his shoulders, he continued talking in a louder voice now that their unexpected visitor had most certainly left from hearing reach.   
  
"I mean, Dorothy is attractive, but..." Heero turned from aloof to rather amused.  
  
"You find her attractive?" Duo's cheeks blew out and he ran a hand through his bangs, uncomfortable.  
  
"Well, don't you?" Heero shrugged. Duo added, "I mean, she's not pretty, but..."   
  
Shaking his head at the conversation Duo turned the music again. The break was over, the lesson was continued. It was too strange, the thought of being pulled toward Dorothy Catalonia in any other way than inquisitive wonder and apprehension.  
  
True. Dorothy was not pretty, or beautiful. There were so many terms for beauty that most often other, meaningful ones were forgotten: things such as 'striking.' While Dorothy was striking, both in appearance as well as forebearance, one could not define her that way.  
  
Dorothy Catalonia was definitely striking. Mainly though, she was handsome. Beauty was given to people such as Lady Une and people with more soft-edged facial characteristics and more alluring personalities; it was a very general group.  
  
Dorothy did not allure people to her but yanked them forcibly and she was not soft but angular. Her high forehead was that of an intelligent, belligerent woman with cheekbones and a chin that was breath-catching, yet somehow combative with the rest of her and at the same time, harmonious. It fit, in a strange way. The sharp, acute position of nose and eyes gave way to a predatorial personality, to some degree.  
  
While comparing Dorothy to beauty one would think of comparing her to Relena. While Dorothy snagged eyes whether people liked it or no, Relena was simply a commanding, fulfilling presence that people felt if not saw.  
  
She was not beautiful - pretty, yes, but not beautiful. (At least, she had not matured enough at that point to be considered beautiful). Her attractiveness was tied in with her personality, honesty, integrity and truth combining to give her a very demanding air that she did not realize she had or knew existed in her body.   
  
Relena's mouth was normal, not as thin as her brothers', but still very normal, as were her nose and chin. These traits came together in a very right, very correct way: her face was so carefully balanced that it gave the illusion of beauty. Her eyes, though, were sound, calm and open, enhancing the effect of that illusion - they were wonders of their own, her eyes, something many people harped on.  
  
Comparing the two - Relena Darlian and Dorothy Catalonia - ended up as different in opinion as gravel differed from petrified rock, even if this was not a pretty way to explain it.  
  
  
  
It has taken so long to get to this - again, this has been a part of the fic I've been wanting to write ever since the first chapter. In so many fics Relena is gorgeous (as well as Dorothy) when I believe that what I wrote here is true. (In the series, there really aren't that many extreme beauties - why dwell on it?). I was going to continue with other characters, but won't - I doubt anyone would keep from skipping it entirely. *Grins*  
  
I love every review, so commentary would be appreciated! 


	18. Ch.17 Family was

Disclaimer: *Munches on Disclaimer* Usual applies.  
  
Ah, Spring Vacation is here and I have all the time in the week to finish up loose ends - starting with missed meals.  
  
Dedication: TO JOOLES! You are fantastic!!  
  
Enjoy!   
  
  
  
People, standing in lone groups, scantily dotted the airport's terminals. So early in the morning, barely anyone was there, either to wish someone a good flight or come as the greeting staff - the chore was put off till those lucky passengers rented a car and came to their home, where they could be met under the proper, early morning circumstances of sleepy "Hello"'s.  
  
Instead, Heero and Duo were waiting for a shuttle to be loaded and prepped for the runway. The colonies never seemed as far away or as close as they did in an airport, in any airport, and Duo was surprisingly aware of that. His fingers itched for the luggage he had brought along, but he reminded himself that it was probably already boarded.  
  
Thirty minutes till he left. In seven to ten hours - he was not sure which flight took longer, the B-37 or Airstream Airlines' - he would land on the colony that was his home, were he really lived. Where someone was waiting for him, and hopefully would meet him there once he landed.  
  
His mouth opened in a small, soundless sigh, one hand splayed against the glass so that all five fingertips touched the cool surface. He was going home.  
  
Duo shook his head.  
  
"Strange, how going home sounds more appealing now that it did before the first time I left." Heero did not reply, but kept on staring up and out, not at the horizon but not up to where the stars sat, either. His lips pressed together, firmly, while his hands dug farther into the pockets of his pants.  
  
Duo elbowed him gently, urging him to turn his eyes away for a moment.  
  
"You'll send the shirt back soon, right?" Heero tilted his head questioningly before nodding.  
  
"Yeah." Duo grinned and pulled at his arm.   
  
"I need something to drink." Heero pulled his arm back and let his hands slip back into the pocket at his hip, following leisurely after his friend. When Duo asked if he wanted anything - coffee, doughnuts - he declined with a frown. Duo shrugged, paying for his second breakfast with change from the first.  
  
Licking whipped cream from around the corners of the cup Duo jerked his shoulder toward a free table. Heero sat down across from him, watching quietly as his friend ate. Left to his own means of sitting down with loaded arms Duo sat awkwardly at first, easing into the thin padding once he put everything on the table.  
  
"Hilde said it was time I got back." He sounded a little boastful, as though this was something to take pride in. "See? She misses me." His voice held a quirky sound to it.  
  
Heero brought his hands out from hiding and lay them on his knees.  
  
"You run the technical side of the business, Duo, of course you need to go back." Duo threw a cupcake holder into a nearby trashcan.  
  
"That's what she'd like to think she means." The corners of Heero's mouth twitched. No doubt, Duo, no doubt.  
  
Duo eyed his friend with abrupt curiosity.  
  
"Anyone waiting for you back there?" Heero shook his head.  
  
"I don't know anyone there."  
  
"But it's your home - "  
  
"It's where I live."  
  
"Yeah." Duo sounded puzzled: Heero did not wish to explain the difference between a home and living space so he turned his head to study the tiled floor. Leaning back into the chair, he spread his feet and let them risk the tripped steps of passerbys.   
  
The shoulder of his jacket brushed up against his cheek and he remained still. Duo looked at him briefly, seeming to size him up, before looking out the glass to his shuttle again. He would most likely be one of few boarding. Five in the morning was not an especially cheery time.  
  
He cleared his throat but did not catch Heero's attention. He slammed the palm of his hand down on the table and won a wary glance.  
  
"Quit brooding, it's ruining my mood." Had Heero's head not been bent forward so far he would have seen both eyebrows lift themselves. "Besides, I might not see for you years. Talk to me, brother."  
  
Heero's estranged glance at the remark made Duo grin.  
  
"I'm going to use that from now on, you know." Scrunching up his nose quickly he looked out again and back at Heero. "Do you have anything planned for the mission?"  
  
Heero frowned, rolling his head around.  
  
"Would you quiet down?" He asked harshly. Duo played with an unused straw, peeling the paper casing around it strand by strand like a banana.  
  
"You're too jumpy in the morning." He grumbled lightly.  
  
"The mission is my last: it has no other importance." Duo's eyes stayed on the straw but his hands paused.  
  
"Are you sure?" He asked, drawing the words out in a hollow but soft pitch.  
  
"Yeah." Duo's shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug.  
  
"I guess I'll trust you on that." Sending the crumpled paper into that nearby trashcan Duo leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the table surface between them. "Does this mean you're not working for the Preventers?" Heero's jaw tightened in thought.  
  
"Later."  
  
"What are you going to do once you get back?" Heero shifted in his seat.  
  
"Duo, they're ready." He meant the shuttle - Duo knew this and his braid whipped around with a quick tug of his head. He grabbed it into one fist, stroking the bending curves.  
  
"Yeah, they can wait. What are you going to do once you get home?" Heero looked at him, irritated and on the finishing stretch of reaching the boundary of his patience.  
  
"I don't know." Standing up, the chair scooching back with a tight squeal of protest, Heero nodded toward where people were making a line. "It's time for you to leave."  
  
"Why so eager to get rid of me?"  
  
"There's your answer." Heero replied dryly. Duo grinned, folding his arm around Heero's neck and across his friends' shoulders - he especially disliked that.  
  
"You have a sense of humor, at least." Turning a little more serious, Duo added, "Would you try and contact us sometime in the next year, though?"  
  
Heero did not answer. Again, Duo made himself feel satisfied that his arm had not been thrown off from his friends' shoulders yet: silence was inevitable when it came to Heero and one might as well get used to it while they could. It was not usually meant to be offensive, anyway.  
  
With a slap on his shoulder Duo parted from Heero's side, waved all too cheerfully for the considered time, and filed into the line of passengers for the waiting shuttle.  
  
Heero waited a moment. Then he gave a well-sized, throaty grumble and called to Duo in a unnaturally raised voice.  
  
"Hey!" Duo looked over his shoulder, halted, and let a family of people in front of him. He seemed only briefly troubled before again lighting up.  
  
"Hey what?" Heero jerked his head toward the shuttle.  
  
"Good you're going home." He said, somewhat blankly. Duo grinned.  
  
"Yeah, it is." Heero's mouth turned up the smallest bit, his expression still deadpan and his voice not carrying anything different to its tone.  
  
There were things he wanted to say, but was not sure how to phrase them correctly. As Duo entered the connected passageway to the shuttle, giving his friend one last, happy look before disappearing altogether, Heero turned and walked away with his hands back in his pockets. There were people less articulate than he, and his inability to wish his friend a good flight came as nothing new to even himself.  
  
Outside, where he could hear the machine engines of different shuttles leave the runway and planes landing, he lifted his face up.  
  
There were things he could do in the Preventers that not only would give him some useful purpose, but also keep him busy. As a government organization just pulling out of its baby stage, though, there were restraints in the Preventers that he would have to live with - some of these restraints he could not work with at the present time. Not right then.  
  
Maybe later. When he felt that the illegal hacking talent of his was not needed as much, or when he felt he did not have to work on his own without allies, maybe then. It was hard to tell.  
  
It was also very hard to decide.  
  
  
  
Relena rifled through the bank investments of her inheritance, interest and concern marking her mouth - slightly puckered - and eyebrows, now pulled together in a vague slant. Flipping through its contents, she gave a cough and went on to the next folder, the next set of papers. Stock holdings, placements, taxes on the land, the manor, the household - all of which she was not looking for just then.  
  
Ah. A complete and highly detailed total of the amount of money in her possession. She pulled the stack out, careful in not letting anything slip from the packet so carefully put together by her personal accountants, and set herself down on the nearest seat available in the vault.  
  
She had long been considering the range of options she had with the money - rightfully hers - ever since she had been informed of its up-to-date exact amount. Surveying the list of 'allowances' she was paid each month, this extracted from the total, what she was given annually, what she was paid as a politician of her stature, adding in the interest per year - the grand total came to more than she thought she really had.  
  
The nervous bank accountant opposite her studied her changing expressions with worry. Not to sound all that cliche but to lose her business would not only darken his career but would reduce the banks' reputation to lowly status as well. She had always been satisfied with their work, having looked over the numbers at a given date every three months for the past year and a half.  
  
Now, she was asking to make a drastic change. To do this she insisted on surveying the amount herself - to increase the banks' worry she came in person with a number of guards and many unanswered, rash questions barking at her heels.  
  
The accountant, tired of standing, pulled a chair up and joined Relena in glancing from page to page, hoping to find what she was looking for at the same time as her.  
  
She waited a few more minutes before looking up. She smiled, a polite, given smile that readied him for what she had to say.  
  
"This is very interesting." The accuracy with which her account had been tallied up so faithfully from day to day was extremely reassuring. "I see that there have been some major changes?"  
  
The accountant nodded. They both knew of the large sums being taken from her personal account and used for anonymous events - it was the money that paid for the weekly flights in and out of Montreal, but as a trusting customer she was not asked about the meaning of these steady withdrawals.  
  
"Yes. It has not dented the over-all as much as we first thought, though - the added investments have made up for roughly one fourth of it already." He said, pointing out the location of these investments on the papers spread on the table. Relena nodded, absorbing, not registering the surprising positive attitude of the accountant when usually anyone involved in banking tended to be more conservative.  
  
The accountant cleared his throat. He still felt nervous, but nervousness was something he was well-aquainted with in the business.  
  
"Is there something you had in mind?" Any particulars? Nothing to get me removed from the company? He glanced over the numbers, reading them as one would read a book.  
  
Relena nodded, drawing her finger along the total.  
  
"How much of this was not my original inheritance?" He blinked.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"I know this was not all mine until a few years ago. Someone did not come to claim a portion of this, and it was added to what now legally belongs to me to carry out the law. Correct?" He nodded. She fixed her eyes on his. "How much?"  
  
His nose twitched and he rubbed the tip with his thumb. Glancing over the papers already brought out, he stood up and went to the files, unaware of the following set of eyes at his back for a few minutes. A folder behind the one Relena had dug through last was brought into the bright light of bank lamps and overheads.  
  
"Here. This should entail the given amount." He handed it to her, sat down, waited. Relena thanked him, passed her tongue over a corner of her mouth, and read the first page. The folder held unusually little for so large an account, even though it did not exist anymore.   
  
She guessed the total of her brother's true inheritance to now be fortynine percent of her own. She was only guessing, though, because the amount of untouched interest was not recorded and with what she herself owned she was not entirely sure of how much really belonged to him.  
  
This made her itch for stats.  
  
She handed the folder back to the accountant, now slightly impatient with a banker's curiosity for customer accounts.  
  
"Yes?" Relena folded her left ankle over the right, settling in her chair to face him squarely.  
  
"I would like to know how much this account would originally be had it been left alone." The accountant flushed.  
  
"I'm not sure we could bring exact records up, but - " He paused and thought. "We can certainly try. It would not be the correct amount, what with the changes in taxes, security, charges and recent inflation. Would a detailed estimate be fine?"  
  
Relena smiled, this time brighter than before.  
  
"Of course. Thank you. When should I come back for the estimate?"  
  
"We can do that right now: our computers should be able to put it together." He could not keep the limited amount of pride from his voice - this bank had an envied system, very modern, very looked-after.  
  
"In that case, I'll wait." The accountant nearly shrugged, just barely keeping himself from doing so, and nodded obediently. He left her with some of the body guards that had accompanied her to the bank, folder in hand, an intensely detached expression pulling his mouth into an unbreakable line, steeling his eyes.  
  
She watched him leave, lacing her fingers together on the table top. The vault, though lit well enough, seemed a dark void - it had little emotion or feeling tied into the atmosphere, the furniture being stark and, though of good quality, done only with the necessesities attached and extra padding. The walls were a bland, if not harsh white and the floor was a newly-developed type of false marble.   
  
It was cold to the eye, but a bank without this formal, business-like, reserved feeling to it was considered a lesser bank. Her advisors had done well in referring her to it.  
  
About twenty minutes later the accountant rushed back in with tight, advancing steps. In his left hand were a few sheets of paper, stapled together, and in the other a different folder. Once he reached the table he went about sorting the mess she had created to find what she wanted while explaining the outcome of the search.  
  
It was a great deal of money, he admitted. All the facts they had gathered were as near a distinct estimate as even they could manage - the pains they had gone through to aquire this data was more than the usual, but Relena Darlian was a valued customer among a small handful. And since some of the records from the old account were in their files and not entirely deleted, it had been made easier scrounging together stats.  
  
He stacked the old away and back into its original holding, pulling out the shelf above it in the filing cabinet. This was little more than empty. Sitting back at the table, he brought the new folder to their eyes, explaining that this was the newest data on Relena's account. The next few sheafs of paper were what really interested her, though.  
  
"50.24 percent of your account was the added amount, counting up the interest and taxing." He finished while Relena looked over the numbers, impressed in the least.  
  
"Thank you, very much." The accountant nodded eagerly, his face serious.  
  
"Your welcome, Miss Darlian." Relena looked over the data one more time before clearing her throat and turning it over to him again. She did not know where to put it among the rest of the files, anyway.  
  
"Before this is put away I would like to discuss a new account." The accountant's eyebrows pulled up in contemplation, slightly confused and bewildered.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Would you separate that exact amount from my account and put it into this one?" She held out a prepared form. "It would be a great help."  
  
"Oh." He looked over it with practiced care, noting with caution. "Yes, we can do that." He swallowed back some saliva that had gathered in his mouth. "Are you sure of this, Miss Darlian?"  
  
"Yes." He tilted his head to the side, folding the release and admit forms into a pocket.  
  
"By what title should we label it?"  
  
"'Soldier's Account.'" His eyes glanced into hers quickly to acertain himself of this. With a little grumble he stood up, bent at the waist and shook her hand warmly.  
  
"World Internation is glad to be of service." She stood up and smiled.  
  
"Thank you." Relena felt a warmth spread through her, knowing her smile to be wider than usual, kinder.  
  
/Well, brother, now you have something waiting for you. Our inheritance, or what you will accept of it, has been justified and corrected./  
  
  
  
One just can't hop over Zechs as though he's nonexistent - although he's pretending to be, since this goes by "Endless Waltz"'s rules. I get a kick out of his playing dead till he's needed again, though - how many people think like that??  
  
Thank you for reading this far so much!! Feedback is welcome, but I'm mostly glad that anyone's reading.....*goes to chew on Disclaimer some more* 


	19. Ch.18 Time passes, tension builds

Disclaimer: *Pushes Disclaimer * Usual applies.  
  
Hey, we're in the homestretch!! (or so I think) Boogey boogey boogey...  
  
(I have drawn up the last few chapters into something of a draft so I can fit some more stuff in, and would like to know if anyone has any suggestions as to what should happen. I'm pretty sure that it's obvious as to what's planned - if there's anything you would like to see happen, I'll check it out and see if I can work it in. Thanks!)  
  
  
  
  
The month of April made a grand entrance into everyone's life, welcoming a warmer season into Montreal and brightening the days in Cinq. Sunshine made more appearances, even through rain, and from space the tilt of the Earth indicated future summer.  
  
Although things did not burst into bloom - as so many would like to hope - the pale brown grass of winter gave way to more greenery, and even if it was not perfectly warm during the day no one could complain.  
  
April, though, brought worse news in tow. It would have been easy to blame the situation on its coming but, as this was impossible to do, people seemed satisfied to carry on with a more pinched and angry air than they had before. There was little else, it seemed, to do against the threat in Afrika other than to leave it to those who knew how to handle themselves. The National Conference that had been thrown together in something of a rush was given an official date - official in that it was publicly announced for all to hear.  
  
Of course, the NA agreed to the conference. This was their chance to be formally recognized for their leadership and the benefits to come of this new country. An irritation grew, like a rash, among the political parties not only representing countries under the Earth Sphere United Alliance but also from lone nations and colonies that were disturbed at the calm uprising in Afrika. There was a certain taste of nervousness and bad tidings among them all, a strain in relations that could not be wiped out until the conference was finished with.  
  
Which became a catalyst for all to hurry and find a way to shorten the exchange of words, and hopefully to end one power or another. For, if this were to continue with the NA annexing countries by force and standing against the law of Pacifism - to which it had agreed to abide by - either Cinq or it would be destroyed. Some thought 'destroyed' to be too strong a term, finding 'defeated' much more preferrable.  
  
The truth was that, if Cinq's Pacifistic law could be so easily derailed, than anyone could overthrow the pact it had made with the world to bury borders, hate and war and continue on its own. At the time, this was the last thing needed. The benefits of this breakdown of alignment would be short-lived and people would soon find themselves entering another fight, another war just a few decades later.  
  
Cinq had to prove to itself and every other country that Pacifism not only worked, but could work for everyone under any circumstance and that it was the better choice for the long-term. Maybe when every need was met with the correct judgement could Pacifism relent and give way to other governments and hopefully other, easier choices, but so soon after being torn up as Earth and the Colonies had been it was desperately needed - even by those opposed to it.  
  
Life did not feel any different. There were still events to attend and things to be looked after just as any other day, but the world was being pulled in two directions at once. Which way to go would be decided on through the conference, although not many thought it would be such a milestone in history.  
  
The ESUN just wanted Nigeria to stop and resume the law it had signed its name to, regardless of the leaders that had originally signed the agreement being deceased. It had a responsibility to itself and its neighbors - much like Cinq had with Pacifism.  
  
Headaches and annoyances abounded in Relena's life as April pressed to a close. The small things that had to be met to complete the conference were frustrating: bunting, tables, the stage, speeches, representatives. And although she had been actively involved in its making, its preparation and first stages of planning she had not expected to be one of the few and 'lucky' ones to actually step up to the stage and announce their decision on the matter.  
  
When she heard that she had gained enough votes in the ESUN to have control of Cinq's ruling political party, she just about had a fit. Had she not done enough? Was this really what everyone wanted? To do so much seemed to be overdoing it, in her opinion. Would people not think she was simply trying for more publicity through her actions?  
  
The votes stood, for now at least. She, and about ten other people, would have to step up to the platform and stand their ground against the imposters that were the NA's representatives. In the end, she did have a fit, behind closed doors in the far back of her home. In Montreal, her increasingly tight, suppressed moods disturbed her friends but that could not be helped. Her grades suffered, but she continued missing lunch in favor of other activities in order to prepare for the advancing conference, damn it.  
  
The whir of demands sufficed to take up the once-empty slots in her time. Days were packed. Nights claimed fits of sleep interrupted by dozing. The ache between her eyes served as one of the few signs for her to stop what she was doing that she listened to.  
  
She met up with no sympathy and little understanding outside the office. But this was to be expected; the public, had they known the inner workings of her calling, might not have been so exuberantly in her favor had they known. Every decision made affected someone, hurting some minority and going to the benefit of another. Such was the luck of decision making, a luck and a responsibilitiy that fell to the ESUN and every other government.  
  
It was a detrimental, troubling state of life that April brought. Relena, controlled grip that she had, felt not thanks at the onslaught of activity although she could blame no one but the people that did not want to compromise for the ultimate: Peace.  
  
As all months and periods of time, though, April did come to an end eventually. It quietly slipped away, but in the most peculair fashion possible......  
  
Crafty was the type that brought a salty taste to everyone's mouth while a thickening sheen of perspiration had faces glistening even in the shadows. The unexpected heat of that week, the one week signifying the end of April, had thrown everyone off into a strangely dizzy ride; the excitement for the end of that school year mounted with abounding complaints of the unusual heat - no one escaped it, even those that did not seem to have the appropriate sweat glands to feel it.   
  
Too most, this was simply a resting stop before the resuming high way of school resumed, months later - for some, it meant the end of their years at Linden. The feelings this gave were variously mixed, and totally incapable of being sorted into relatively effective categories. Therefore, none spoke aloud of it other than overhead hums of a dance to come and the unfamiliar territory of: graduation.  
  
Tangled were the feelings of Relena, intermixed with Denna's purring of planned summer activities and Lark's brusque, sharp replies. Of course, those few weeks were unlike the ones before, where she had found time to think - time to think out of the box and her occupation, at least. She worked her thoughts into so much of her political life that the boundaries that separated them, her occupation and her personal doings, the lines she had drawn so carefully and with so much thought, were beginning to blur horribly. She hoped it was only the heat to make her so mind as befuddled as it felt.  
  
Added to that was the odd, carnival feel to that one week - it was the warmest and so the most well-remembered - and this was much due to Denna's daily change of haircolor and the wild put-together of cut-off, multilayer and thin to transparent clothes she wore to class - and for which the teachers hated her. Denna was predictably unpredictable, reckless in a safe way, open-minded in a frenzied world. Her summer dress over green nylon stretch pants and braless attitude served to entertain her and shock others with many little, "Good grief, you are terrible!" comments from Lark sprinkled in to lighten the mood.  
  
All in all, the world was crazy in more than one way, and Relena found herself surprisingly, comfortably seated and swamped in the thick of it. She had just read that thought in her mind when Denna, a turban in so smarting a blue color it hurt to look at it for long on her head, marched to her side on the brief grassy region outside the school. It was early afternoon, just minutes before the bell had rung for classes to finish. The tall girl fixed the brooch pinned to her shoulder, busying herself with that.  
  
"Interesting day, yet again." She muttered. After pulling at it a few times she looked up, not at Relena but at the sky - a blue that paled in compare to her turban, a feeling she had due to the heat. "Is it just me or is it getting hotter?" Relena looked up, shading her eyes briefly.  
  
"It might; I'll check the weather channel at the house. Did the air conditioner really break down?" She asked with a worry supported by the obvious pain it would be to study in a classroom of moist, clammy skin and no breeze to freshen up the group. Denna seemed grim, her fingers still working at the brooch.  
  
"Yeah, I heard it."  
  
"Mmmh." Relena set one hand on her hip, the other went to her forehead. "Good thing it is almost the weekend, maybe it was only a minor problem and they could get it fixed before Monday." Denna's laugh came out a bark.  
  
"I doubt it, Miss Duboise likes the power over a subdued classroom much better."  
  
"You are terrible." Relena looked behind her curiously. "Is Lark coming out or has she left?"  
  
"I think she hopped a bus a few minutes ago - in pointe shoes." There was a very brief moment of silence as Relena reflected on that remark. Her own came out in a drawled tone, the words still considering if they could be replaced with better choices.  
  
"I never thought her the dancing type...truthfully."  
  
"Neither did her parents, I think they're seriously worried."  
  
Denna stretched, picked up the bookbag she had let drop before joining Relena on the grass, and started in the direction of downtown.  
  
"I have a few 'errands' to run for Harriet, so I'll see you tomorrow. A demain!"  
  
"A demain!" Relena called after her. In the time she had stayed she had learned little french, something that she considered a mistake on her part. In a place were the language was necessary for everyday life she was surprised she had come up against it at so few occasions - and each time the other person had known enough English for her to get her point across. Really a wonderful city.  
  
Turning on her heel, she began down the walk to the house - not rightfully her home, she could not call it that without feeling something of a reproachful pang bordering on "You know, that'll change real soon" critizism - and felt glad for some of the trees to offer the meek shade against the bullying, yellow gleam of the sunlight.  
  
  
  
  
Dressed like a doll might be for a child's version of "Working mother," Sylvia Noventa looked over the luggage at her side one last time to fill out the forms at the baggage center. Three suitcases in all, each weighing over twenty pounds - such came from boarding an American shuttle. They still had not transferred entirely to metric and only did so later in the records; for the time being, pounds were being used instead of kilos.  
  
Once she had finished with that, she was accepted into the further reaches of the airport to board the shuttle she would fly. Over the din of airport-talk music could be dimly heard. She could see the hundreds of people below her, hustling their way through throngs to get at certan destinations. But, as a first class passenger on a first class shuttle, she only saw them from above; something of a glass tunnel passed overhead of the crowd, leading to the other shuttle pads on the ceiling of the building rather than on one of the other levels of the three story airport.  
  
With a wry, nostalgic smile Miss Noventa thought of how her grandfather would have felt had he been here, in her place, taking the position of family representative that rightfully belonged to him. She was a poor substitute; although engaged in politics at an early age, her life had been deterred from a political position ever since her grandfather had died by it.  
  
She would not call it entirely cowardice - she was here, was she not? - but common sense. Her grandfather had been diplomatic, open-minded, articulate and aware of how to form his words into something people would accept rather than shun. She was grateful to find some of that in her being, but lacked the delicate speaking tone he had possessed, preferring unhidden truth to compromise in any situation.  
  
Basically, she could not refrain from speaking exactly what was on her mind, wherease Grandfather Noventa had known when to do so and when not. So, she came as a temporary representative while another was being hunted up - to put it bluntly.  
  
The event was rapidly growing to such proportions that certain measures were taken: anyone coming paid an entry fee and was asked not to question the authority of any personnel there - seventy percent being guards. A few police divisions had been hired as well, for the grounds and the inside, ordered to appear in uniform and in mingling-clothes.  
  
All in all, it was a conference that would be historical. If only her grandfather had been here to see, and participate - he would have felt so proud! Sylvia Noventa glanced to the left; the tunnel looked out onto the closest section of the nine meter-thick glass wall that contained the colony, the boundary between civilization in space and space itself. This was the only point in the northwestern part of L4 that one could feel and be so close to that barrier.  
  
He would have been proud. Endlessly proud, of Cinq, of peace, of Pacifism. She missed him, and he would have been elated at this particular point in time - so proud. Her own chest heaved and her small smile gave way to a larger one at the thought of what was going to happen.  
  
If only Cinq had had the option of ramming the antagonists in the belly beforehand. But, being a nation of immense power, a power none had come to challenge yet, it was responsible for serving out that power with as fair and gracious a hand as possible. It hurt that no law or agreement could benefit everyone - in some cases, that might have been good anyway - but that they had to follow a very strict code meant restraining them from doing something to prevent an outbreak that could jeopardize the entire relationship.  
  
If Cinq had attacked, that would have been hypocrisy, an unfair advantage taken cheaply on their part. Now that they have waited, they had a considerable threat to deal with. So confusing, but those had been their only two choices. Instead of appearing to be using Pacifism as a ways of gaining power and control, as Romaefeller had done with peace, they had continued with its laws, containing the problem by not forcefully or activily fighting it.  
  
And it worked, as far as the eye could tell. Except that everyone was either mad or tight with nervousness now.  
  
The shuttle came into sight: set in the general direction of Earth, it seemed to be giving it a patiently critical eye - "Oh dear, oh my", that type of thing. Sylvia paused, allowing the palm of her hand to come into contact with the glass of the tunnel wall. Her shoes clicked three more times before silence reigned supreme around her.  
  
But she knew the silence she heard was simply the lack of that clicking of her shoes on the ground and the quieted sound of her breathing. Behind and around her, humming and mufflings told of people and machinery, working, moving, setting a rythm to everything. Outside was complete silence. Nothing to carry over any sound.  
  
Complete, utter silence. Alone. Space was empty and full to the brim at the same time. Somehow, the thought was a little unnerving, a little warm to her, odd - mostly it was terribly frightening. She had never been anywhere were there was complete quiet, a drenching, head-to-toe stillness.  
  
Space was the only place to find this. And Earth was where she was headed.  
  
  
  
I'm so sorry this has taken me so long - for a while I was simply wondering where the heck to start - but I'm happy with what's here. Uploads will be more frequent after this: when I said we were in the homestretch, I meant it :(, so I can go according to the original plan again without too much change.  
  
I know that a massive percentage of Gundam Wing fans despise, abhor, hate and are generally disgusted by Sylvia Noventa - I'm surprised such an unnecessary character got such a large part in the series, though I don't care much to see her burn on a spit. (She was in 3 whole episodes, though, for Pete's sake!). But that's really the reason I put her in - besides, I've used just about every other character. *Grins*  
  
Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate it very very much!!! 


	20. Ch.19 The stage is set - clean up crew r...

Disclaimer: *Headbutts Disclaimer* Usual applies.  
  
I just read Stephen King's "Misery" and am thoroughly creeped out: as it is, it is too late for me to actually be working on this and I badly need to git. Enjoy, thanks!  
  
(If anyone has anything they want to see happen in the last few chapters, say so in a review or email me and I'll consider it).  
  
  
  
With a dismayed and confused expression settling pocket marks between her eyebrows and thinning her mouth into a strict line, Lady Une smartly tapped the desk of her secretary with a rolled-up packet report to announce that she would not hold any conferences till two o'clock and to take messages for any phone calls that hour - she would not be receiving any.  
  
For unwanted reassurance she glanced up at the clock above the doorway once she had locked the door to her office. It was one o'clock: he would be safely tucked in that plane, a plane that had already been in the air for the past fifty minutes. His flight had started and, without reasonable back-up, it could not be turned around - Lady Une doubted that the Foreign Vice Minister would appreciate her telling of the girl's stay in Montreal behind everyone's backs.  
  
Now beside her desk, she slammed the rolled-up report onto her desk; one it had fallen from her fist she dug her knuckles into its wooden surface, one hand stiffly set on her hip. She was not aware of chewing on her bottom lip as she stared angrily, coldly at the rug, but she did - if it were not an inanimate object, that rug would have easily curled up under her deliberate stare.  
  
Maybe she should tell someone, the Foreign Vice Minister, perhaps, of the incident. Perhaps she could tell her cabinet. Maybe she could alert Canada. But for what purpose? To state the obvious? Indeed, she would be the only one worrying. Only she knew what had been going on in the last year, she had been the one to oversee everything. Had she flubbed? She had never made a mistake in the Preventers office, the affair with Mariemaia having occured during her term but planned long before anything was set up.  
  
Speculating, she continued to the chew on her bottom lip. Her eyebrows drew farther together. With one, absent hand - her entire attention focused on something lying outside the room - she searched for the vidphone that she had left lying on her desk.  
  
Having found something that felt like it, she brought it near, turning to see it only once she had something of a plan in her mind. While the vidphone hummed to a working state she called into the secretary for a number.  
  
It took several, tight-lipped minutes before a response came through. A friendly, if bland face appeared on the screen; a modern-day version of an operator. This might have been the most secure vidphone she possessed, each line it connected to utterly sheltered from thieving or eavesdropping, but for that she could not go directly to whoever she was calling.  
  
She gave the needed number, identification and names. The face disappeared, replaced with a blue screen that lasted maybe another minute. In small lettering the date of that, "May 28", kept being repeated in different regions of the screen.  
  
In the meantime, she withdrawed her ability to talk pleasantly, chivalry replaced with a biting directness that people easily mistaked as being mean. She only used this to get information out of people immediately - it scared them fast enough for them to talk with the smallest amount of stuttering.  
  
A concerned, oil-smudged face appeared as though looking down at her from a difficult angle. As they talked, the screen was raised to the appropriate level.  
  
"G'day, Lady, how may I help you?" Duo leaned in as though they were talking in person, as though he were about to whisper in her ear. "Does this have anything to do with me?"  
  
She shook her head and crossed her legs at the table, leaning into the chair she had taken a seat in while the operator had connected them. Behind her, Duo could see Cinq laid out, pretty in noon's sunlight.  
  
"Not at all, but it does have something to do with your good friend, Heero Yuy." She enunciated the word sharply; Duo, slightly taken aback, tilted his head to the side. From behind him, Lady Une could hear another voice coming through, asking who he was talking to, telling him the assignment had to be finished before three o'clock - preferrably.  
  
"Okay, Lady Une - Hilde, come here a minute - " Suddenly the screen was split between two faces; one wondering, and turning nervous with surprise, the other friendly but worried. "This is Hilde Schbeiker, Lady Une, she's my partner."  
  
"Glad to meet you under more formal circumstances, Miss Schbeiker." Lady Une said, eyeing Duo broodingly. Her eyes did flick over to the girl, whom Duo had an arm around, before settling on him again with little question.  
  
Hilde almost dropped back into a soldier's stance, almost saluted.  
  
But she was not military now, for her that did not exist anymore. She was civilian now, a bonified civilain with papers and records. She did not need to salute.  
  
"Er, yes ma'am." Duo let her go afterwards, looking after her briefly before hunkering down into a chair to talk.  
  
"What about Heero, he in trouble?"  
  
"Not yet. He just took off." Duo's eyebrows rose and fell, but he was quiet. For a second.  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"He started on his assignment - early." Lady Une took her eyes off the vidphone, twisting her chair around to the left. Duo made a nasally snorting sound to combine with a throaty rumble, expressing his disbelief.  
  
"You're wasting money on a call to tell me that? Jeez!" His flippant tone to authorities had become habit for him, a routine he regularly checked into when he talked with someone like her - although there were very few of her rank.  
  
Lady Une's stern expression was expected; the debate was on.  
  
"Would he do this?"  
  
"He always got started on them immediately - he never left anything unfinished, you know that."  
  
"But this is a special assignment."  
  
"No assignment differs that greatly from the other to him."  
  
"Never?"  
  
"Well, some of have slight, various differences, but - "  
  
"He left on a plane an hour ago heading for Montreal, but not by the company we assigned him to. He also seems to have manipulated the ticket into coming from our treasury and being of no expense to him, even though it's an entirely different flight." Duo shrugged, the thicker, rougher material of his garage-man outfit creating a crunching sound.  
  
"Yeah, he usually does that to get his own way. He probably just wanted to alter the agenda to fit his standards."  
  
"Isn't he usually right on the mark?" Her eyes glinted once she sideglanced at him, Duo's eyes meeting hers squarely. "Tell me, Duo Maxwell, you must know. What is playing?"  
  
  
  
"Lena, you sure you don't want to go?" Denna's arm draped over Lark's head and angry eyes lifted up to see the underside of the taller girl's chin. "Even Charlie Brown's coming with her dancing feet."  
  
"Shut up, Angela." Denna reached down playfully, eyes glimmering, and picked at Lark's nose.  
  
"Don't call me that. Now, Lena, are you really, really sure?"  
  
"Yes, I can't come."  
  
"Is your aunt that paranoid about your safety?"  
  
"Yes, all the time. She suggested my living with her, but..."  
  
"Ack, sounds bad. Well, one more chance to come along - it would be mega-fun!"  
  
"'Mega-fun"?"  
  
"Hush, Charlie Brown. Lena?"  
  
"Yes, I'm sure, now go or you might be late." Denna pulled a small piece of paper out of her pocket and Lark began to fight at the arm draped so heavily over head.  
  
"'May third, in bold, Swing Dancing, swirly lettering, so and so street, live band' - " Relena good-naturedly pushed them both out the door of her small, four-room house, with Denna still reading whatever else had been printed onto the card. "Are you SURE?"  
  
"Denna, please don't antagonize me."   
  
"Get your arm off, it's heavy!"  
  
"Bye!"  
  
"Last chance gone! See you Monday, Lena, and have a good weekend with your grisly aunt!" Denna sang after, a smile still on her red-cheeked face. The door closed and Relena leaned against it, shaking her head, the trace of a smile on her face.  
  
Once she knew they had long since rounded the corner and left the area, she called a cab and stepped into a light coat, regardless of the muggy heat that came with the dying day. The laughter from earlier that evening compensated her for the sobriety that came with that car ride. Grisly aunt. Honestly.  
  
A fledgeling returning home, Relena again watched road give way to highway give way to airport sidewalks. The jet ride was, as usual, fast, though not fast enough to escape timezones. Such miracles, unfortunately, could not be instigated no matter what kind of fuel was used.  
  
But, hey, May's first week had already reached the finish line. Two more days, and people would be in full-swing and harmony with the summery month.  
  
If only things were as easy as that - but was wishing for such not silly? That was showing very little depth to what thought was going through her mind. A precocious, child-like thinking process. Although many said one must think a child's thought further along before denying it acceptance among adults; it usually brought one to unexpected places. Forging such a road from common, adult-like thinking might have ended conflicts; if war were that easy...  
  
But war was easy. War was easy and complex at the same time. Made complex by the people fighting it, berating each other in it, stocking their morals and upholding values and finding meaning for each other in it, then plummeting to a child's way of understand: is that not fighting? Are those people not the same, just wearing different colors?  
  
And on and on the merry-go-round went in her mind, with no apparent stop to the evolution of a single thought other than the start of a new one.  
  
  
  
"I really would not call him a player, Lady Une." In any way, he thought.  
  
"Fine, then don't. What does he intend to do with this?"  
  
"You went to me to ask this?" Duo's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you ask him, once he lands?"  
  
"By then something might have happened. He was not supposed to leave for another two hours. That would have been sufficient time - "  
  
"Maybe not sufficient enough. He's a weird guy, Lady Une. If you ever need someone to think out of the box, don't look far."  
  
"I have tried recruiting him, Duo Maxwell, you're straying from the point. You must know something. You roomed with him for long enough!"  
  
"He doesn't talk much, have you noticed?"  
  
"You've worked with him." She pointed out.  
  
"In complete silence." That was not entirely true, but almost true on Heero's part.  
  
"Does he know anyone in Canada? In Montreal?" Lady Une's voice dropped off, sounding as though she were speaking to herself without meaning for Duo to hear. "Does he want to see someone?"  
  
"Be crazy, even insane, for a moment, Lady Une. Who could he possibly want to see in Montreal who would be there the same time as him?"  
  
Lady Une's abruptly quiet, even blank eyes and dangerously low tone of voice crackled once she had paused long enough. Duo, with his face to his hands and away from the screen, worked at picking dirt from under his nails and around his cuticles; as he absently worked Lady Une watched his head.  
  
"You do know something." He held up a finger, a clean-nailed one, and shook it.  
  
"Not for sure, just a whiff of a hint."  
  
"But you know. Quit sidetracking."  
  
"Let's not get insulting, Lady Une!" He warned with a grin. "I never sidetrack, never."  
  
"Duo Maxwell, why would he want to go so early?" She leaned forward intently, Duo now critically looking over each fingernail, "It can't have anything to do with the job. Am I correct?"  
  
"Sort of. Hilde, do we have a nail file?" He called.  
  
"I will absolve him from the penalties of his actions once he comes back if you tell me something, Maxwell. What does he want in Montreal?"  
  
"Back to that again?" He asked teasingly. She scowled, he frowned. "You wouldn't seriously do something to him just for taking an earlier flight, right?"  
  
Lady Une's mouth perked up sarcasticly.  
  
"He meddled with Preventer files to get that earlier flight." Duo's look was that of sparked anger.  
  
"If you weren't so prim I'd call that blackmail." She shrugged, if not as carefree as she would have liked.  
  
"Tell me what you know, Maxwell."  
  
Duo's shrug was much more convincing - it was the truth.  
  
"I thought so a while back, but didn't think it was any of my business. I left it alone, began a career." I taught him how to do dance, Lady. You tell me what you think of that, if I told you, then. Duo's eye flickered up to finally meet Lady Une's expectant one. "She saved his life in return for him saving hers, Lady. She...well, he feels...I can't put it into words without hitting on something that isn't right!"  
  
"Try."  
  
"No." Duo rubbed the heels of his palm against the material of his suit, on his knees. He was uncomfortable as all get out. "What exists between them is extremely undefined - it's amazing anything's gotten this far for them at all." After that, he clapped his mouth shut, staring down any attempt at making him talk further that Lady Une threw at him.  
  
She gave a tired sigh.  
  
"I see. Thank you for your time." She actually did not see, but regarded that as a useless detail at the time.  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
With that, she ended the link between them and secured the number - in case anyone decided to check in on who she had called on May 28.  
  
She passed the back of her hand over her forehead. Everyone was a little ancy: the day before the conference and still, little bugs in the software surrounding the event were found, tiny things needed fixing. Of course she would get upset over this detail, something not so small or little as the rest.  
  
  
  
The foil swung, a whistling noise following its course. The balance was fair, not as excellent as the saber, but certainly of capable weight and grip. Eyes carefully following the track it cut through the air, she finished judging the tool and took to a stance: one hand snapped up behind her while her feet splayed to a measured distance.  
  
With the hand that had snapped up behind she quickly set on her headgear, the leather gloves rubbing up against the metal mesh with a hollow squeak. Now looking out through a thinly barred and defensive window, Dorothy shook out her shoulders before calming.  
  
Without warning - hence an experienced move - she stabbed forward as though steering the weapon toward a person's gut. Pulling back, she stabbed again, in virtually the same place. Intestines spilled forth when she had the foil swipe cleanly to the right, the foil then brought in a vertical position in front of her face to part the training court she saw behind the mesh mask in two halves.  
  
Settling into the former stance, she stabbed forward again, this time hopping a step forward, her mental opponent bent over with the tip of her foil pocking from their lower back. He vanished, replaced by another dummie. She took on the stance, positioned herself, readied her nerves; under the mesh one would have discovered a lax, thoughtless smile curving her mouth.  
  
She performed the beforesaid steps, this time diving to her knee to stab the new opponent up and between the shoulder blades, forcing the foil up past innards, driving it to barely brush against the breastbone and spine.  
  
She was satisfied with her technique, smooth and expert. Trusting, again, her own judgement of the matter she relented in wounding imaginary opponents, long having given up on true duels and turning to her own methods of practice. She grudgingly admitted to herself, and only to herself, that at least this way she would not hurt anyone.  
  
A softly spoken greeting breaking the forbiding silence around had her pleasant expression meld into one of unpleased surprise: a face, equally swathed in mesh safety, was what she swerved around to meet, foil at the ready. Whoever it was, dressed in the practice uniform leased by the Preventers, took on a mystery form to her - much like her other, self-created opponents. But this person had their foil lowered: hers would not budge from its position, the tip in the air at a seventy degree angle and quivering lightly.  
  
"Yes?" Her voice was peculiar, hoarse. Deep thinking seemed to have interruped the natural flow of what came from her voice box. She cleared her throat very quietly.  
  
The stranger in the fencing array reached up with a slim, gloved hand and unhooked the strap from around his head - it held the mask in place. Long fingers pulled back, let go, the strap fell. A slightly mussed-up, fluffily wild plume of blonde hair peeked through before the face appeared, good-natured but expressionless.  
  
He shook his head, letting his hair settle into their normal positions around and over eyes, brushing against the upper curve of each ear. They stared at each other, Dorothy's foil still quivering, his own let down from its guard. In place of the placid expression he usually wore, one of indifference had taken up his face.  
  
"Can we talk?" Dorothy remained, motionless, where she stood, rooted by the soles of her shoes to the hard, rubbery ground. Her face was a mixture of estranged, unwanted longing and exasperation, neither emotion seeming to win out in their differences. After a chocked silence her head cocked to the side, unnerved, her entire person feeling unwillingly exposed.  
  
"What might there be to talk about, Mister Winner?" She asked stonily. He shifted, letting the hand that held the foil drop to his side. Her eyes flickered from its bent tip, resting in a stubborn, yet yielding manner against the floor, back to his face. He shrugged, slim shoulders poking through the heavier fabric of his fencing suit plainly.  
  
Dorothy unhooked her own mask from around her face, shaking out her hair, sticking the mask between the crook of her arm and her waist. The foil was slung back in its holster: a grim, very small grin followed, prying her lips for the tiniest opening, teeth flashing in the corners.  
  
Quatre stared at her evenly and Dorothy's body did something it never had before, or at least, not so openly: her knees buckled and she swayed, ever so lightly.  
  
"Anything. Just talk to me." He said earnestly. Dorothy, feeling herself being pulled from her skin into vulnerability, slanted her eyes in confused self-hate.  
  
"Just talk..." She mouthed in a near soundless state.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Dororthy turned her face away, chin touching an upturned shoulder, and the mask fell to the ground from between her fingers.  
  
"What are you doing in Cinq, if I may know?" She had already guessed it, even as the question remained unfinished in her mouth, at the ready to spring from her tongue.  
  
"I am attending the conference tomorrow. I landed here by shuttle two days ago."  
  
"Hmm-mmh." Her reply was wispy. Quatre, reluctantly, held his hand out as an invitation: she stared at it. It was just the reflex he had been dreading, but he had hoped she would move forward without more of his coaxing.  
  
"Dorothy, please."  
  
This had her head crack up to meet his eyes, searching but finding no form of hesitancy - or pity - through worried, slanted eyebrows or crooked mouth corners. Her staring eyes, at first unknowingly hard, widened, the glare of the harsh light from above brightening them.  
  
He had never called her by her first name before.  
  
  
  
  
Yeah, I know, I've been hinting at the Relena/Heero action for, what, the entire fic? but I can't help it. Creepy as it is, Dorothy and Quatre are cute. (But don't worry! I've been restraining myself with iron will to keep from straying and I'll LET LOOSE in the last few chapters!!).  
  
By the way, the mixed up dates were meant to be as they were. In case of confusion, Duo and Lady Une's conversation occured the day before the conference, as did this little meeting between Quatre and Dorothy. Relena's part in this chapter actually occured in the beginning of May, several weeks before any of the rest.  
  
Anyway, thank you very much for reading, I appreciate it!!! 


	21. Ch.20 Her little revelation

Disclaimer: *Sits on Disclaimer* Usual applies.  
  
Finally! I am SO sorry for the long wait - I had only 10KB done until last Saturday, at which point a dear, good friend of mine (*glomps Chelsee* This is for yas'!) gave me something to start on again and..here's the outcome!  
  
Enjoy, and thank you!!  
  
  
  
  
Enveloped in what seemed to be a never ending fog of white, Heero watched from his seat at the aisle as the cloud they were in thinned and thickened at different intervals. He doubted many could tell the difference; when he did not stubbornly concentrate on it he often could not tell if what pressed against the glass was close or three feet farther than it seemed. Monotony at this quickly made him take up the water the steward had brought him.  
  
He sat in his seat holding it, with no intention of actually drinking, and glanced to the front. A balding man sat three seats from him, as was required for a proper plane ride. No one got away with a flight where there was not some obese passenger in the row over, sprawled in every direction, crowding his or her neighbors, or someone balding who seemed addicted to passing a brush on what remained of his hair every fifteen minutes. If only he had learned the lesson long before, but the paranoia case sitting behind him, the one with the stuffed parakeet on the brim of her hat, interested him to the utmost.  
  
Her smell was thick, rising in waves from her body to the people around her. She kept rummaging through what luggage she still carried with her, muttering in so low a voice her own neighbors had long since ignored the very sound. But Heero found them fascinatingly odd.  
  
"...stupid dog..."  
  
"..wild turkey, where's that wild turkey flask..."  
  
"..oh, so loud, stupid yappers..."  
  
"...heaven, I'm seeing heaven out there..."  
  
He understood that, normally, people would not be listening to this with something resembling a happy expression settling on their face - they had not listened to the wild turkey lady before, though. But he did not eavesdrop for more than a minute at a time; even the raspy, throaty murmur behind him did not bring his attention to rest but gave it all the more reason to change direction and follow some other, absurd course. Like the stewardess' shoes; who would wear those on a mobile aircraft?  
  
The magazines were old and of no interest to him, as was what was being shown on the television screens hooked above the passenger's heads; all that was left was to sleep the rest of the trip out. Ignorant of the louder cries of alarm coming from his squacking paranoia case, he leaned the seat back. First class was indeed comfortable he thought with a sense of triumph.  
  
Vaguely thinking of what Lady Une's reaction to his early flight might be Heero dozed off, eyes not entirely shut but enough so that his eyelashes brushed his cheek. With a groan of expectance he let himself turn off what activity went around him and as he did so, his face turned right and nestled into the cushioned seat.  
  
What was really a twelve hour trip, laborously uneventful and boring, passed by quickly for him as doze turned to nap turned to true sleep. Perhaps he sensed, lightly, the shadows over his face as people passed by - and an anonymous hand that held a finger under his nose to make sure that he was sleeping, not dead. His sleeping state was of such rest and inmobility that he seemed a happy corps in his plush, first class seat, hands overlapping themselves in his lap, hair covering most of his upper face.  
  
But the thin stream of breath that blew out at normal intervals was the needed reassurance. After, he was left well alone.  
  
  
  
  
School ended with a whoop of joy errupting from the majority of the student body, some teachers included, and a silent minute later the sidewalk lining the front of the building was overrun with people. Miss Duboise stood from her window, an unlit cigarrette in her mouth: once Denna caught sight of her she winked optimistically, waving for added emphasis. The teacher's expression of disgruntlement was constant, though, and any change through facial contortions could not be distinguished from her usual look of sanity deprivation at the moment.  
  
Lark hobbled over, her crutches under one arm. With a grunt she found stable footing on which to stand still and looked first at Denna, then at Relena. They were one of many small groups that had formed once the initial joy of school ending - in the technical sense - had washed passed them. Now, in the settling-down moments of the afternoon, the bright light that had lit up the entire day waned to reveal matted sunlight filtering through low-hanging clouds. Denna glanced around, her grin brightening as she thought private things to herself.  
  
"Excellent." She said in a matter-of-fact tone. Lark, feeling pangs of bitterness at her foot, did not glance up but responded with the appropriate remark.  
  
"It's going to rain, how's that excellent?"  
  
"Excellent in that we have two more hours before anyone is needed at home."  
  
Relena listened with only one ear.  
  
She felt frustrated.  
  
Her eyes settled distantly onto Lark and Denna, their mouths forming words that she did not hear. Such good friends. They were the friends she had hoped she could know a little more about every day, learn something important about their personalities, without thinking of how truly short her time was to find out these things. And she was standing across from the end with her face turned unwillingly to the side. She did not want to leave. She did not want to leave them, or the comfortability that came with being Lena.  
  
It was so easy. She rarely found something that could be immediately easy in life, and yet, this persona was a well-fitting glove to her.  
  
She had thought up undeveloped plans of leaving the Darlian life and recreating a new one through Lena Burg - all that was silly, and very amateur in its making. She felt not only an obligation to her job because of the people she was in service for, but to herself as well. The occupation of Vice Foreing Minister needed her as much as she needed it - she had fought for it, she deserved it, she was capable of accomplishing things through it and under the name of it.  
  
Actually, she found that now she could work as Vice Minister better with what she gained throughout the last year. Friendships, different perspectives, a respect for humility and humbleness. A reverance of normality, no matter how overrated Lark thought it, no matter how much Denna was opposed to her version of it. She had experienced a different form of privacy and independence.  
  
Truthfully, it had all been for the better - Relena's eyebrows slanted together, her forehead crinkling in thought.  
  
"Come on, I know were we should go - Lena, you're going to have to keep up!"  
  
They left for a district of Montreal Relena had never been to, although she might have heard of it. She could have thought up were she had heard it if her mind were not cluttered with other things, mangled with repetitions of chidings she gave herself and nostalgia.  
  
She had come to learn and advance as a person and as herself. She had done that, and had no complaints about it. Why did she feel so hopeless? A person in her situation had every reason not to. She had felt things not many could. She was lucky to have gotten this far at all. Why, then? Why was she so tangled in her own sentiments? -   
  
They ran into a crowded, yet wide street. Denna began to laugh, and she felt a single patter of rain splash onto her head. It soaked through to her scalp, and that one tiny area of cool felt strange in the middle of what was a sheltered place.  
  
- She was being ridiculous. She should have been happy. She was happy, she simply did not feel that a person in her situation should be. Hypocryte. She would have encouraged other behavior if another person were in her present mood. Relena's eyebrows lifted a little and her steps quickened, hastening over the uneven territory of the cobbled street. -   
  
Lark's foot, sprained during a dancing lesson, seemed to have relented at its pain and gave the girl some leeway. She was hobbling and hopping as best she could, the expression of a toiling drudge gone for the moment.  
  
- Relena was responsible for so much, so many dreams and fears and hopes. So many laws. So many, many laws. The responsibility weighed heavily on her but she enjoyed its heftiness. It was hers, hers to keep, hers to ruin, hers to share the products of her labors with others. There was not much anyone could call theirs in the sense of ownership, and responsibility was sometimes overlooked - an obvious possession that most neglected from time to time. She could not neglect hers. She had an obligation to it, it meant so much to her, it gave her present existence a name. -   
  
Denna had somehow come in possession of several cheap, touristy paper fans - two of which she managed to hang around her neck, the others she gave to Lark and Relena. They were large, cumbersome things; they waved it around them as they splashed into puddles that grew with the increasing fall of rain, coming together in the dents where the ground had sank and cobblestones made a ditch.  
  
- She had felt so mechanical all month. Ever since the end had come too close for her to forget it or ignore it, she had not thought of what needed to be thought of but instead turned to unnecessary whines. She had gotten so far - farther into confusion, but at least she was farhter ahead into that mire than she was a year ago, the direction she was heading in a tiny bit clearer than before. Her socks suddenly felt soaked and she looked down, surprised to see herself standing in water two inches deep. Her sneakers - of course, they were of thin material. -   
  
The sweater she wore began to cling to her shoulders and she lifted her face to the sky, eyes open, mouth slowly curving up, eyebrows pulling back. Denna was twirling awkwardly between the drifts of people, the ones who had decided the sidewalk too crowded to find footing on, in the street and Lark's crutches slammed against a tire.  
  
- She had been so unbelievably stupid to think this the end! She had let herself become robotic in seeing a facet of her life giving way to something else, something new - was she not the one to always repeat that new things were not to be feared? She would never see these people again, they would never how much they had affected her, but they would not have approved of her ridiculous, spoiled self-pity. Relena turned, her upper body leaning farther back as the rain seeped into the thicker yarn of her sweater. -  
  
Why had she worn a sweater? The school was always too cold in the warmer months of Montreal. She had not remembered the first few days of school, when her hands had become to heavy and clumsy because of the dry, cold air constantly blowing around her.  
  
- It was going to be alright! She could feel as confused and tired and tied down as ever, fettered and tacked even, but someone would get up and begin a needed upheaval! Her responsibility did not have to rule her feelings - she did not have to be the supposed hero of peace - why was this all feeling so new to her when she had thought it all before? -   
  
Relena felt a spray of water slam into her thigh and glanced around, finding Denna's sprite-like grin bouncing around her. With a grin of her own she responded by sending a kick of water in the tall girl's direction, making her jump back with a loud laugh. Lark, on her one good foot, performed a slightly rickety ballet move, her dark hair pasted to the sides of her face and her neck.  
  
- The sense of being robotical did not fade. But now she knew it could be persuaded to leave. Everyone had their down moments, granted, but they could be lifted, she would lift hers, she had to if she did not want to feel this way again and, Heavens, great green Sally! did she ever want to feel normal again, like she had before, like she usually felt or thought she felt -   
  
"Beat that kitten with a DOWN feather, DOWN feather - " Denna sang, her voice lacking the needed harmony but comical anyway. Lark's hair whipped around her face as she moved to the irregular beat in half-way jumps and hobbles, Relena laughing at their own antics and joining in from time to time when she broke apart from the well of her thoughts and looking up the sky, getting soaked. Their shirts swung around their bodies, momentarily plastered to their sides before being shaken and thrown around. For a moment, Denna disappeared from their peripheral vision, were she had been dancing around like a circling woodsprite, before reappearing with loud music following after.  
  
- Relena leaped, enjoyment ruling her movements, the patrol of gloom leaving its perch on her senses, the weight of its stay gone. She was a person, and was allowed and accepted as being a person and feeling like a person; she was also used to voicing her feelings, to giving herself into a conversation and thinking out loud. To suppress so many things had been like the heavy, leaden feeling of a suddenly gray and rainy day on a person who had many headaches - it hurt, and left a bruised stain on a usually clean surface. Oh, she wanted to not feel so robotical, she wanted to feel free, and if not free, sure of herself, she wanted to feel her responsibilities like a sharp knife on skin, it would make her feel the heaviness of humanity, a feeling that was not all good but not all bad, either -   
  
Relena was not sure if it was the rain or wind that caused her eyes to tear up, but the water that ran down her face was warm and thicker, contrary to the lukewarm feeling of rainwater against her neck and hands. Her sweater now sagged from her body, thinner than she remembered it to be even though she had never noticed the weight loss during baths, and her pants hung from her hips with pathetic grace. She felt at a loss of words and what she did say or wanted to say came out incoherently, in blubbering, ranting form, without surface value but carrying a sort of broken depth that one had to pause and think through it to make sense of it, which no one did, of course.  
  
She felt free, physically, her clothes representing none of the usual constraints or confinements, drenched through to the underwear, loose and beginning to grow cold in the air. She felt robotical, senselessly and irrationally robotical because she had no control over the things she so wanted to keep at least a light pressure of the hand on, but at the same time ultimately alert in this suddenly softly outlined world - she only then realized they were dancing and hollering in the streets of Montreal's China town, and blinked hazardously into the downpour.  
  
"Luck be a Lady To-onight!" Lark sang brokenly, swinging on her crutches, letting both feet dangle, uncaring of the pain it gave, dull as it was. Denna joined in and they finished the song in frumpy fashion, unaccompanied by Relena as the lyrics were new to her. They then went on with "That's why she's a tramp" and other such songs, no order in them, some foreign, all at random. Relena managed to croak out some words, her voice lost in a tidal wave of things that had no term for them, unfortunately, feeling caught in a spider's web and too lost to tell down from up.  
  
- And then it occured to her that she need not think, not then, not ever if she wanted to give up all she had achieved, which she did not under any circumstance, but the comfort of acting out of character and being slightly wilder than usual was tempting, so she danced as best she could with rain sloshing in her sneakers and flattening her hair and making each step unbalanced and slippier and therefore, exciting. -   
  
"Enough! This is enough! I can't breath!" She gasped in a hoarse tone. Denna's laugh, triumphant, rang out from behind her and the girl swerved around to meet her. Denna's hair, in her wild array of colors, swayed in front of her eyes and coated her ears, making her look the complete clown. Through the slits that did appear, though, she looked with glee down at Relena and lifted her ripped, touristy fan.  
  
"Dance till you die - not breathing is not putting enough EFFORT into it!" The last part she screeched, much to the sidewalk-sissies' dismay, and leaped around in circles from one side of the street to the other. Relena, as soon as she had wiped some rain drizzle from her face and eyelashes, joined her with the best of intentions - namely not to fall down in the middle of a sprint.  
  
She bumped hips, hard, with Denna, then ran off to clap hands with Lark, then made the most ridiculous attempt at a handstand in the world. Their laughter dimmed in her ears and it dawned on her that her mind had pulled a blank ever since she had given up that inner argument in herself - never lost, never won, and always to be continued later on, as were all inner arguments in a person, these being perfectly unavoidable no matter where one hid.  
  
The hopelessness, the humor and the motivation it served to give was something she took in stride as best she could - as did everyone around her, every day of their lives. Humanity had no other choice and she was not going to add that to her list of impractical worries. If she ever did, she would rather pay someone to kick sense into her rather than have it heaped atop everything else.  
  
Denna glanced at her watch and gave a loud yelp. Lark, long since having been resting under an umbrella - it was on sale, along with the chairs around it - looked up from shaking out the water from the hems of her pantlegs. She looked curious, without the usually cross look that served to remind people she could be vicious at worst, venom at best. Her personal shield and at the same time, a deep fault Relena hoped could be mended by someone with as much patience, endurance and density as Denna herself.  
  
She only regretted she would not be there to see it happen, or hear of it.  
  
But frankly, that was her only regret now that ranked itself according the amount of pain it caused.  
  
"It's a little after six, guys - we need to split, or Harriet will be raving ma-a-a-ad at me!" Denna's grandmother was the only person she truly feared. "See you later - bye!" Without much else, other than a hasty wave, Denna stumbled over her own feet to reach the curb and an alley that led northeast, hair flashing from the light of a nearby lamp being the only thing they last saw.  
  
Relena glanced over at Lark, who struggled up onto her crutches, gave them a dismal grump, and bundled them under her arms. Straightening as best she could under the conditions, she gave her a watery, but happy smile. The playful banter had done her well; her cheeks shone pink. She blinked away raindrops and waved once to Relena.  
  
Relena came up and gave her a light hug, something that mildly surprised the other girl. After a brief, but friendly farewell they parted, Lark insisting that she could beat off anyone too curious and not to worry about leaving her to her own ways to get home and that she would see Relena later, anyway - this one time, she missed the light wince that came from her friend at that last part.  
  
Now, alone and wet in a still-crowded area, in the middle of the street, awash rain, Relena raised her arms and gave a yell - one of hurt and relief and thankfulness. It was all too good, too easy, for her to truly believe.  
  
Part of the way home she took a taxi, but knowing that what money she had on her was little she only took one part of the way. Once she had reached the limit, she requested a stop and thanked the driver, paying him a little extra and forgoing the request for change. She actually staid to wave him off, standing at the curb in the rain, thoughtful and happy, even content.  
  
She went home, sometimes walking in the gutter - her shoes and pantlegs were soaked through, it would not hurt - and sometimes, when the traffic was too intense, she would meander along the sidewalk. At coming to her street, from where she could already see her house, her temporary home, a small, picture-perfect haven in the haziness of the rain-soaked world, she gave a smile - a real smile. She waded toward it, sometimes yanking at the waist of her pants to keep them around her hips, having beforehand to push up the sleeves of her sweater - it was stretched out past her fingers and, she was sure, would never be the same again. That did not matter - it was all the same to her.  
  
At one point she stopped and checked to make sure her keys were, indeed, in her pocket. At another moment, right before she reached her doorstep, she ran the flats of her hands over her hairline, smoothing the hair back, and then thrashed her head around till the water flew in large, thick droplets around her. A throaty laugh followed. Fun fun.  
  
At her doorstep she buddled in her pockets for the keys again, having briefly forgotten in which they sat. Finally, she found them - only to have them spill out onto the doorstep. The rain had calmed down, now coming down in a soft, yet continously thick drizzle, and she hoped it was not strong enough to knock the keys away for her to find in a sewer.  
  
She bent down onto her knees, searching for them, again hoping they had not been washed away, when something strange, completely unexpected and condemning happened -   
  
The door opened on its own, hinges squeaking. Relena raised her head unbelievingly, feeling lost and hopeless again, but then, she remembered, remembered her thoughts and the rainy afternoon - she clearly remembered locking that door that morning as well, and then she returned to remembering what had happened a short hour ago -   
  
She stood up slowly, head tilted at an inquisitive, but blank angle, her expression one of very mild, almost reluctant curiosity, hair hanging in a mess from the side of her head and some plastered to her forehead, arms at her sides.  
  
Without anything in her mind to make her hesitant or speed her up, she stepped in, finally sheltered from the rain.  
  
  
  
More to come, but the wait might be, again, long. These are going to be some of the longest chapters I've ever done - exceptions being the first few in the fic - but they will be the best; hints? - Think Heero and Relena....think soft romance....think ending. Please be patient, I promise it'll be worth your while.  
  
Thank you so much for reading, I truly appreciate it!! 


	22. Ch.22 Defenses are as fragile as eggshel...

Disclaimer: *Races with Disclaimer* Usual applies.  
  
FINALLY! IT IS DONE! Enjoy! ^_~  
  
  
  
As on any given rainy day, the air was a more personal presence to the people it passed by, closer, somehow intimate - but very quick in its intimacy, leaving a person standing as though stood up on a promised meeting, the warmth of its whisper still tickling their ears. Such was that day, although the rain drove the wind faster and harder, making it a more abusing being to its victims, its many passions, its lovers - namely, those out on the street, unprepared to meet with its touch.  
  
Relena, in a half-crouch, stared into what was rightfully her house. The beforementioned draft pulled in, wafting towards her, curling around her small, drab frame, driving on ahead to lap at her unexpected visitor in the living room. A light given off only such days, those rainy, softly drizzling, aloof yet cloud-enclosed days, glowed from behind her in a soft, gray sheen. Rainy days usually had that strange glow; it did not outline any given object or being but rather, pulled around it to light on what lay ahead. Relena seemed a fuzzy dream-figure from where she was in that half-stance due to this lighting.  
  
Her visitor, the tops of his shoes the only thing unshadowed, stood staring at her, unmoving.  
  
She rose, knees creaking, her back popping once or twice. At least she had found the key; it hid in the palm of her hand, crushed into the skin by fingers tightly shutting it up. Then she walked forward, one uncertain foot to the next. She stumbled briefly, in slow-motion, it seemed, her steps halting awkwardly and throwing her body to the left against a short section of wall that jutted out, acting as a way for a tiny hall to form before giving out into the living room.  
  
From there, she simply stared. It seemed bizarre, nearly surreal, to have him there. She found, somewhere within herself, underneath all the layers of the life she had created to separate this from what lay in Cinq, an ultimate confidence that should not have existed. She had let herself think that, just knowing the end of her stay was soon meant it would not necessarily come. Of course, she had been wrong, logic prevailed.  
  
In a brief, disgruntled head shake her visitor took a few strides in her general direction. He passed her and shut the door roughly, uncaringly letting it slam into the doorframe, before turning his eyes on Relena. He seemed mildly curious, in a pleasant way, at what her reaction might be to his being there.  
  
Relena, knowing that her hushed and wide-eyed expression did little to satisfy his thoughts, brought her arms to tightly lie against her sides, fists loosely held just below her hips. He was a little taller and she had to lift her face slightly to look into his. Her sweater, still having a dusting of rainwater over its textured surface, hung around her in an apologetic way, the sleeves weighed down past her fingertips and the hem to heavy to hold up any farther than her thighs.  
  
She brought one hasty arm up to wipe at her forehead, strands of hair pushed away to the sides when she swiped the back of her and against the skin. She sniffled when a drop of rain ran from her forehead down her nose - it tickled.  
  
She licked at the corner of her mouth hesitantly.  
  
"Heero." She said, her tone clear. He watched her silently, eyes focused on hers intently. After a while his head leaned forward as well and she brought the same hand up to curl a wet strand of hair behind her ear; when his stare did not move the hand froze at the side of her face, although her expression was only one of surprise.  
  
"So you're the one to escort me back." His eyebrows jerked together and he pulled back.  
  
He nodded. With a little buddling around he managed to find a kleenex in one of his pockets and offered it to Relena. She took it, fingers clenched loosely around a fold of it, a little unbelieving. Not half a minute later she wiped her nose with it.  
  
"Where were you?" He asked plainly. Relena set the tissue aside.  
  
She shrugged musingly, eyes growing distant.  
  
"Having a good time. In the rain." An eyebrow rose when she said that.  
  
"In the rain?" She cocked her head at him, nodding happily.  
  
"Yes." His shoulders jerked in a sudden heave, something that could pass as a cross between a heavy sigh and soundless chuckle, and gestured to her appearance.  
  
"Well, you're wet now. Dry off." She glanced down at herself, arms spread out a little. True. She looked very wet; but she felt muggy as her clothes, now a little soaked, kept her bodyheat locked underneath the material only to let off steam. And having transferred from the outside to the exterior of a building had left her feeling a little cold, the steam cool against her skin under her clothes.  
  
At this thought, the feeling came to the surface of her attention and she could not repress a tremble.  
  
"I think you're right." He slid to the side in one large step, reaching for a small blanket hung across the back of the sofa. Handing it to her, he told her to put it around her shoulders. She did, tucking it in under her arms, feeling her sweater moisten it from the back. She smiled thankfully up at him before moving away from him, padding over in squashing shoes to the stairs.  
  
She stopped at the bottom of the steps, faltering when a question came across her mind.  
  
"When do we leave?"  
  
Heero turned from staring at her back to the staring at the floor. His hands crept into his pockets and his shoulders hunched.  
  
"Anytime." She glanced over her shoulder, puzzled.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He rolled his shoulders while managing to keep his hands in their pockets. She, in turn, noticed how, at the shoulder, the of material of his shirt formed little tufts of extra - it was a tad too big on him, although the cuffs reached his wrists neatly enough. The slacks - slacks? - fit him, though, they must have been his size...  
  
There had been plenty of surprises in the span of her life, as had been example moments before. And not many made it into the top ten. This did.  
  
"Lena, hey, Lena! - open up!" One hand on the banister and a foot on the first step, Relena turned, once again, wide-eyed and slightly frightened, to where Heero stood. He was already at the door, one hand on the doorknob, splitting his attention between whoever was outside and his charge. He glanced at the door then back at Relena and she found he was as upset as she.  
  
Hurrying back to the door she motioned for him to move aside, out of the way, hugged the blanket around herself securely and turned the knob. She looked outside through the crack between door and doorframe without any doubt as to who it was.  
  
"Hi Denna." Relena said, her voice coming out as she exhaled, making the tone of her welcome quite breathy. Denna grinned down at her, a stand-out figure as her legs jutted out of what she wore milky-pale beneath a black, above the knee hem belonging to some skirt. Over it, she had a jacket, regardless of the weater being more than fair in temperature, really quite nice - minus the drippy setting.  
  
The girl ushered Relena and the door aside and Relena found herself crowded between it and the wall. Her friend marched in, boots creating a loud stomp as she did so. While Relena closed the door yet again, her face slightly pale, mouth parted in anxiety and her eyes a little worried, Denna looked around to where the television stood on its little stand.  
  
"It hasn't stopped raining, wouldn't you know - " She said, all the while swerving on the sharp heels of her snug boots, "Anyways - Lena!"  
  
Relena's eyes immediately darted over to Heero. Her visitor, now leaning against the wall, glanced up from where he had his arms crossed over his chest, first to Relena, then at Denna. Slightly narrowing his eyes in frosty opposition, he continuously stared at her - all to the delight of her joy.  
  
"Good God, Lena, I can't believe - " Relena passed a hand over her face feverishly.  
  
"What are you saying, Denna?" She said, Denna raising her eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"I mean, well, look at him - "  
  
"Oh, no! You don't - "  
  
"I mean, I can't believe! - "  
  
"It's nothing like that, how - "  
  
"This is great!"  
  
" - can you - pardon, what do you mean?" Denna clapped her hands, easily excited.  
  
"We have a date!" She crowed. Relena stared at her friend, inexplicably oblivious for the moment.  
  
"Would you repeat that?" Denna waved her hands in the hair, hands, Relena found, that were gloved in lace. Her friend's voice had risen a few notches till she was hollering cheerily.  
  
"This is so great, come on, we need to get you fixed up - " She said, grabbing at Relena's elbow and beginning to dragging her away, toward the stairs. As she passed by she looked over at Heero, eyebrows and the corners of her mouth working together to create a most unknowing, confused expression. He made a move to capture the other elbow but Denna jerked her along.  
  
"Hurry up, why are you lagging? - "  
  
"What are you planning?"  
  
"As though you don't know!" Relena let herself omit a nervous, baffled chuckle.  
  
"Really, I don't - "  
  
"Watch that last step!"  
  
Before she turned the corner to reach the upstairs level she threw her eyes down towards Heero, who stared up at her as well. He now stood rooted to the floor two feet from where he had last leaned against the wall, a musing, bewildered expression that mellowed quickly left on his face. She gave what could pass a shrug before stumbling up the last few steps.  
  
Having herself thrown into the bathroom and a few orders to get undressed left with her, Relena asked herself if this was the price of her dawdling. Surely no one could keep her from -  
  
Denna, fiddling with a zipper, came in and hung up a dress from Relena's closet on the shower curtain pole. At seeing Relena had not even removed her sweater she gave a noisy grunt and began pulling her own jacket off.   
  
"Everyone's being very slow this evening..." Relena, grudgingly obeying the command, turned her back to her friend and pulled the thick, clingy material of her sweater up and over her head. Having left that one the edge of the bathtub to drip to the floor in separate puddles she began on the zipper of her pants. From behind she received dry underwear as Denna busied herself with something else.  
  
Relena realized, shortly after having gotten dry, that the dress hanging next to her bent head was the one from Second Splits. Having adjusted the straps of her bra she swerved around, peering from the water flung from her hair at her turn at Denna's shoulders.  
  
This little realization jolted her into blurting out a demand - whatever was Denna planning on doing?  
  
With a tired sigh Denna answered, rather plaintively, it might be added.  
  
"We're going to that fling at school, prom, is it?" Denna, still at work, waved a hand over her shoulder. "Now pull that thing, that was the only suitable piece in your closet - 'glad you bought it now, mmh?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Relena mumbled, slightly cross, as she unfastened the little hooks on the inside of the dress, near the top of the zipper. Once she had it pulled up past her hips - perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her but the bodice was not as snug as it had been previously - and slung around her front she asked Denna to help her with zipping it closed.  
  
Denna's hands were cold and made her jump forward with a flinch.  
  
"Now, where'd you find him?" Relena squirmed.  
  
"Mmh?"  
  
"Him. Downstairs. The stocky one." Stocky?....  
  
"I never..well, it depends on how you look at it." Denna picked at the straps of the dress intently.  
  
"Fine. Where'd you meet?" Relena licked her bottom lip thoughtfully.  
  
"The beach."  
  
"Of course, romantics - " Denna made Relena turn around. "All too perfect. What do you call him?"  
  
Denna pulled Relena's hair from behind her ears to hang around her face. Relena briefly wondered if any water would make a stain on the straps if her hair was still that wet.  
  
"Heero."  
  
"How pretty." Denna murmured, slightly absent-minded. With a handful of Relena's hair in one fist and a blowdryer in the other Denna stopped midway in the act, letting a hot blast of air knock into Relena's face most unkindly. "Wait. Is that the teddybear guy?"  
  
Relena pawed at the hairdryer irritatingly, head jerking when Denna attempted to make accompanying hand motions following her remark.  
  
"I guess so." She said in a blustery wa. Denna's expression brightened into true mirth.   
  
"Oh my! This is fantastic!" The dry current of air moved onto to her scalp, concentrating on the hair lying against her head instead of the ends. "It was only a fly-by thought! You have really done it - "  
  
Relena stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, the place were Denna had stationed her little set-up. Seeing as how she was now chewing on the inside of her cheek she glanced away and at her friend. Something seemed strange. Indeed, something was vaguely...off.  
  
Denna looked quite polished, actually.  
  
Relena cleared her throat, leaning forward a little when she lay the flat of her hands against the counter for added support.  
  
"Is there a reason you're wearing black?" Her friend snorted mysteriously, moving on to the other side of Relena's head.  
  
"My mother. Her complaints at my zealous clothes - this is her dress, wouldn't you know." Denna picked up a brush she had found in the one of the drawers. Relena, her head now pulled back a little at the quick brush strokes being applied, questioned further.  
  
"But why?"  
  
"She didn't want me to go the fling-thing in a flapper's costume. I think." Ah. Ah ha. Denna stepped back, brush held up ceremoniously in one hand and a sly expression settling into her eyes. "Elegant, no? Very minimalist."  
  
"Very dapper."  
  
"Only you would say that - and Lark." Relena's mouth formed an 'o'.  
  
"Where is Lark, by the way? - wouldn't she have come?"  
  
"Her ankle's too sore, I checked. She says we'll do something next time, when she's healed."  
  
"Oh." Relena's voice was hollow but Denna remained untouched, faithful to her obliviousness as though it were a private religion.  
  
She paused in her work, glancing at Relena's eyes through the mirror.  
  
"You think this is good?"  
  
"Yes. It looks very beautiful."  
  
"Thanks. I never would have worn something without straps - no straps but tight. Feels weird." Relena smiled and gave her friend's arm a quick pat. "I mean, it holds itself up..."  
  
"Therefore the jacket?" Denna nodded, picking up where she had left off.  
  
"Hence the jacket." She reached for a tube of something. The waxy, blunted tackiness of lipstick appeared on Relena's lips. Little else was added make-up-wise; the rain had calmed any overly red patches of skin in her face for the night.  
  
Without waiting for a comment or empty remark Denna twirled Relena around by the shoulders, causing the skirt of her dress to billow out around her legs and flutter against the side of the counter with the sound of feathers.  
  
"Ready!" Relena smiled, at Denna, at herself, at this situation.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I don't think - "  
  
"We've left Teddy down there long enough - "  
  
" - that we can go with you - "  
  
"I hope he knows how to dance!"  
  
" - will you listen to me?" Relena finished in a cry.  
  
"Of course I will, but the cabdriver seems impatient so let's leave before he ditches us." Denna patted her on the shoulder and clattered down the stairs, sidestepping so she could do so quickly in her boots, and, at reaching the first floor, stumbled in her effort to present the oncoming Relena in the most fantastic way possible.  
  
"And I present to you - Lena Burg!" She said boomingly, unintentionally projecting her voice to each available pocket of space on the second floor as well as the first. Lena, shaking her head pathetically at a sheepishly-grinning Denna, stepped down, let her handa off the head of the banister, and turned to face Heero.  
  
Who did not move. Denna curiously raised an eyebrow at his inmobile position.   
  
After a while, he walked to the door.  
  
"There's a cab outside." Denna pulled on the black lace gloves again, pulling on her jacket thereafter.  
  
"That's ours, let's pile in!"  
  
She rushed ahead when Heero held the door open. Relena took a little more time, walking rather than jogging, testing to see if the shoes she had on still fit from there largel dormant state in the back of her closet. Stopping at the doorframe she looked out to where Denna had climbed into front seat of the cab, rocking from the high-heeled ends of her shoes to her toes to test comfortability.  
  
Heero stepped next to her, about to shut the door.  
  
"Well?" He asked her brusquely. She tilted her head in a shrug.  
  
"I...can't really say no."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"She's a friend. How would we explain this?" Heero regarded her carefully, eyebrows raised. She clasped her hands together.  
  
"See? We can't, not without inconspicous reason. Let's just play along." They started down the steps towards the cab. After a moment she added, thoughtfully, "Roleplay, Heero." He paused, his hand emerging from the pockets of his pants for the first time in a while.  
  
"As your partner?" She smiled, her chin rising a little.  
  
"Rather our date."  
  
They were at the cab and she reached for the doorhandle. He made a grab for it, pulling the flap-like door to his side.  
  
"Alright." He mumbled, helping her in by the elbow. "Mmmh..."  
  
They made themselves comfortable in the backseat and Denna, dangling an arm around the back of the headrest of her seat, watched them with amusement.   
  
The streetlights glinted off the driver and her in the strangest of ways, their outlined forms darkening with the sky as the sun fell, the shadows running together like dark, watery paints. From her position in the backseat, directly behind the driver, Relena thought Denna to be too complacent, too calm. Perhaps not her person but certainly the exterior of: she was no rainbow anymore.  
  
No rainbow.  
  
"Denna - is that a wig??" Relena coughed out. Denna gave a hooted laugh, cackling.  
  
"No, this is my real hair color."  
  
"But, how - "  
  
"I've been dying it day-to-day colors so everything could fade out for the past year. Yesterday, that was a wig." Denna seemed to have succeeded a personal goal her grin was so wide. "Will everyone be as slow to notice, I wonder?"  
  
Relena tapped the index finger against her mouth, astonished. Denna was auburn-haired, a dark, reddish-brown that, with a sidepart, seemed unusually neat and orderly. Ordinary, rather than orderly. A few wisps of it hung around the nape of her neck, everything was so straight, and it had no color in it other than what seemed natural.  
  
Denna had begun reminiscing fondly.  
  
"Lark noticed immediately, you should have heard her shriek." Relena shook her head, wagging it from side to side.  
  
"You're terrible."  
  
  
  
The dance was held, as all others had been up to this point, in the largest of the two school gyms. Decorations, naturally, hung connected from wall to wall in a network that reached across the ceiling. The floor was heavily dusted with sparkly sand particles and tiny shapes, moons, hearts, clovers, with a colorfully metallic look to them. They entered through one of the doors to find refreshments being served at the corner to their left, music played through speakers set up in various locations around the gym for the full effect in the next and a few chairs in the last for those tired dancers and their companions.  
  
Only the harsh lighting of the gym had been there before - all else had been recently added. People were already out, twisting and stomping. Some talked. Denna, having threaded her arm through the crook of Heero's right elbow, waved to a few people she was familiar with, trading obscene welcomes with them joyously. Relena, clasping Heero's left arm, peered at her with a peculiar, oddly amused look.  
  
Denna parted from them once she saw someone she had to shock. Waving a teasing goodbye she raced as best she could over the littered floor. Relena and Heero glanced at each other, decidedly close together in the mad rush and going-ons around them. She was unsure; where to go?  
  
Because of the music's volume they had to either shout or speak directly into each other's ears.  
  
Relena cupped her hand around Heero's ear and asked him whether they could stay another hour.  
  
He told her only two at most. She agreed.  
  
With that, he left temporarily to find the drinkstand.  
  
A few people came to talk to her, all of which she weakly appealed to. She had steeled herself for leaving, leaving without telling them anything, setting them behind her for her to inable herself to live in Cinq permanently. She had accepted that she would disappear. And now, she was to face everyone at the time she thought she would be, quite frankly, rid of them - although she liked them, any sort of relationship other than what had existed before was quite impossible.  
  
She thankfully accepted the paper cup Heero handed her from behind. At seeing him, her school friends' kind chatter slowed. A few minutes later, they drifted, leaving behind warm hints and subtle teases that had Relena glowing slightly. Heero, though, only saw them talk and walk off.  
  
He glanced around. Relena tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"Would you like to sit down?" She asked into his ear. He shrugged obligingly.  
  
They then proceeded to walk around the densest mass of people to were a set of fold-out chairs had been stationed. From their position there they could view Denna swinging from the shoulders of two people, students that were as tall as her, who smiled, as they were used to her antics. She fussed with the hair of one, straightened the bowtie of another, and made them laugh.  
  
Heero turned his ears from conversation to music. He stared at the headstation where it was being played off and the beginning notes of the next song, the first lyric, was familiar.  
  
Heero's pupils decreased in size. His stare remained cold and directed at the DJ. It was the song Duo had used to teach him.  
  
Without letting his sight unclip from the DJ he turned around to face Relena a little better.  
  
This was the song Duo had taught him with...  
  
.  
  
AHAHAHA! _FINALLY_!!! FINALLY, it is done, I had to start over, it was slow going, and it's DONE DONE DONE! Good grief, I never expected the next chapter to take this long.....so sorry, really. Thank you very much for reading, I appreciate it greatly! (Especially if you still are reading, rather than give up on my slowing updates).  
  
By the way, as an FYI note: I've started a new fanfic. Unexpected in all possible ways but I'm finding it interesting to write. It's titled "Meat Hooks" - the only thing it has in common with "Starting Over" is that it involved a multitude of characters and pairings.  
  
Again, thank you! 


	23. Ch.23 Shake your bon-bon......

Disclaimer: Usual applies.  
  
I'm very very sorry if anyone thought Ch.22 was the ending - it wasn't. I even have an epilogue for this ^_^. Very very sorry for the confusion, but...  
  
Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Relena looked around as the lights dimmed, blinking once others were turned on to take their place. At feeling a hand tighten on her shoulder, she glanced to her side, at Heero. He sideglanced in a secretive manner. He pondered on it briefly, mouth parted, prepared to form the needed words, before asking if she felt she would like to dance to this music.  
  
In turn, she regarded him oddly, brushing aside a strand or two of hair that had slipped over her shoulder to her collar bone. She glanced out at the masses and back at Heero.  
  
"To this? Are you sure?" He nodded indifferently, eyes a little more eager.  
  
He had not done all he had, practiced and learned under Duo's supervision, to come and be no more than a light fixure in a waiting room. He intended to use what he now knew.  
  
"It's easy." He brought her to her feet. "I promise."  
  
They threaded through the patches of people surrounding the dancing section, most of them on-lookers or people just resting, waiting for their breath to return and their feet to stop humming. He elbowed his way through the thick of it while she followed, on her own, clumsily tripping over a few feet and ankles. They eventually found a place to squeeze into with only a foot of space separating them from each other.  
  
"Now." He waited for the next song to start; it had taken them that much time to get to where they now stood. "Listen."  
  
She nodded, a little wary.  
  
"Five seconds into the song, start moving."  
  
"Heero, I don't know how to dance like that."  
  
"You'll learn." A frown flitted over her face but was gone soon enough. Heero, giving the situation a moment's thought, grumbled a little but told her to straighten and he would show her. Relena gave a small jump at that, one of surprise, more like a tiny hop of quick-lasting astonishment, accidentally bumping into someone behind her.  
  
"Alright..." She rolled her shoulders. "Now what?"  
  
"Hip shaking."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have to do a lot of that." Giving him a puzzled look she did, giving her hips a small swing around. Heero watched her, shaking his head. "Wider. Don't worry if you come into contact with anyone else."  
  
She did so again before looking up to see if it was satisfactory. He nodded with a shrug - well enough - before going on. He told her to roll her body, let arms dangle and only to let them swing every so often when the need came by: once she had enough practice she could move them with more tact. Relena accepted that, being more reluctant to arch her spine to perform the more wilder set of 'moves'.  
  
Heero shook his head, a little disgusted at the success of his recent teachings.  
  
"No, that isn't it." Relena, admittedly, felt a little impatient at hearing that then.  
  
"Well, show me." Heero pulled back at little, but not far - their personal space was decreased as more bodies were packed in.  
  
"Demonstrate?" His nose wrinkled up a little in thought.  
  
"Yes." Heero gave her a disgruntled look.  
  
"Fine." Now...what had Duo said...  
  
The hip thing. Best to teach her that upfront.  
  
He raised his arms above his head, reaching past the crowd surrounding them, and swung his midsection according to the beat of the music. Relena, at first glancing up at his hands and the concentration setting his jawline into a strict position, eventually let herself look down to what he was trying to have her learn. After a moment she reached up with a hand to cup her own cheek, eyes wider than before.  
  
Heero adapted the moves as best he could in different variations instead of constant swinging, staring down to make sure he actually nailed down what he was imagining mentally correctly. Uncaring as to how Relena was taking it he then moved his whole body, in turn, till a few people began to stare - those close by that felt the rotations, accidentally, rub into their hip every so often.  
  
"See?" He was in a temporarily oblivious state and Relena's face was warming up to the touch of her palm against her skin. "Easy."  
  
He swung a little harder, his torso churning, arms easing into their own moves. Although the song was short, not more than three minutes, it seemed prolonged to her as she watched. With a small swallow of saliva that had collected on her tongue she nodded her understanding of the type of dancing he demanded from her.  
  
"Ah." Was all she said once he finished, her voice a little faint. It took her a moment to look up from his hips to his face again, her hand now leaving her cheek to fall at her side.  
  
He glanced her in the face. After a moment he reached in with his thumb, tipping her chin towards his eyes, and brought her head up.  
  
"Is the heat getting to you?" He asked tonelessly, a little breathless from the exercise, but quietly. Relena shook her head weakly, his thumb still on her chin. Perspiration shone over his forehead in a thin coating stretched across his skin; she felt her bangs soaking in the sweat on her own skin, making them stick, stringy.  
  
"No. Why do you ask?" His thumb pulled away and she tucked her chin in again.  
  
"You're red in the face."  
  
"Oh."  
  
For a moment she stood there, in front of Heero and under his scrutiny, until she brought up a hand and gave it a hastened wave. She shook her head, biting her lip, the red that had been large blotches in her cheeks receding.  
  
"I think I need to rest a moment."  
  
Heero shrugged. He almost helped her out by the elbow but she turned immediately after informing him, making her way doggedly through the crowd toward the exit of the gym and leaving him to stand, alone and surrounded, by her classmates. His arms settled against his sides; he stared after her till the back of her head left his watch.  
  
Then he glanced around, wondering why he had not found a seat in the sitting area.  
  
A hand slithered its' way into the crook of his elbow; a flash of black and skin appeared in his peripheral vision, and someone had him swerve around on his heels with a pull.  
  
"I didn't think you could do that!" He stared at Denna questioningly, his voice a cooling lilt headed by uncaring eyes. Denna, though, remained oblivious and jerked her head at the music booth. He let his eyes wandered towards it, then fastened them on her again.  
  
"Do what?" She gave a "harrumph" noise and the hand by his elbow left. She crossed her arms over her chest warily.  
  
"Dance."  
  
"Hm."  
  
The next song started up. Her eyes, in turn, began to sparkle.  
  
"Come on, let's dance!" Heero's body stiffened and he unwillingly let her drag him in deeper into the crowd.  
  
He felt the base create vibrations beneath his feet. He tipped back against Denna's weight, managing to break free of her grasp.  
  
"I don't think so." He began turning in the direction of the seating area when her arm made its' way to his, yet again.  
  
"But you're good, it'll be fun!"  
  
"No." He was wondering, in his shut-up, reserved way, why he had bothered with a reply - giving one had not halted her yet. He stopped, though, when her hold on him tightened lightly. Turning his head, he eyed her unwelcomingly, barely crooking the corners of his mouth down in distaste. "I said, no."  
  
Denna's smirk made him want to pull away.  
  
"Son of a gun, you!" He turned his shoulders her way, otherwise keeping his body facing in the opposite direction, the lights in the gym now moving strange shadows over the dent of skin under his lower lip and between his nose and upper lip, the sides of his face, and his eyes.  
  
"Your persistance is unappreciated at this point." Denna glanced toward the music booth in sudden annoyance.  
  
"Who cares. You just wasted a whole song."  
  
"You have till one in the morning for..this." He growled, eyes glancing away in the direction Relena had gone.  
  
"But you're leaving early." Huh. Relena must have told her that.  
  
"So?" Denna dragged her exhale out heavily.  
  
"Quite frankly, you're like prison patrol." Heero's eyes narrowed generously. Denna, concentrating on other things besides his reaction, missed the reflection in his tone of voice at her referring to his guarding of her friend.  
  
"Ah." That must have been some sign of defeat, that last comment of hers - prison guard, he thought, Relena. He turned around to leave.  
  
"Not so fast." Denna brought a fist up and bopped him on the head. "One song and you're free!"  
  
He nearly growled another fiendish reply when all possible roads leading out of the crowd were stamped shut by added bodies. His shoulders slumped tiredly, his mouth now slack. Eh. Unfortunate pettiness played out of his favor.  
  
He heard her clap her hands behind him and proclaim how trapped he was, how delightedly trapped he was, in a cheerfully dense way. With her. Positively delightful (in her opinion). Now, why would he not simply bend and give in, as otherwise both their time would be wasted even further. He agreed, privately.  
  
His glare made her gleeful.  
  
The dance was not as hyped as the last, but it had a pleasurable tempo. They did not dance in unison, Denna rather trying to keep up with her temporary dancing partner, but Heero, to his taste, performed his part with all the bonuses. He even went along with the brief moments of partnership Denna insisted on once or twice.  
  
The song ended with Denna's last shout. Giving a quick thanks she turned, feeling the thumping vibrations of moshing coming from the eastern corner of the crowd, and began hopping to the new beat with all the excitement of that evening, adding on what breathlessness she had aquired minutes before.  
  
Heero left for good, somewhat glad, in a gritty way, to be out.  
  
He found Relena next to an empty seat: she smiled widely at him, all uncertainty or whatever had occured before wiped clean from her expression. He sat next to her, propping his elbows up on his knees, regarding her stonily, musingly.  
  
"What?" He harrumphed. Her shoulders gave a happy pull upwards and she rubbed the hem of her dress' skirt at the knee between thumb and finger.  
  
"It was good of you to dance with her." He stared at her, a little caught up in what she had said. Her smile brightened a last time before calming and he watched, finding his interest in her continuous from the last time he had seen her, the last time he had been with her.  
  
A thought broke into the dam of thoughts he had amused himself with for the past few minutes.  
  
"Do you need something to drink?"  
  
Her eyebrows gave a startled up-down motion and she shook her head.  
  
"No, thank you." Relena folded her hands in her lap and glanced around, chewing on her bottom lip.  
  
Heero blinked, turned his eyes from her and watched everyone milling around the central area of the gym. They seemed so loose. Preoccupied with socializing and general enjoyment. He was not sure what he had expected, although the sketchy details he had set in his mind seemed close enough to the reality of it. Close enough. He had put an expresso machine into the imaginary setting, and it was missing here.  
  
Students seemed attached to that sort of thing. Than again, the logic of coffee late at night would seem crossed by the fact that the next day could easily be missed - school was out for vacationing. The added caffeine, therefore, was unnecessary.  
  
He glanced around again, back at Relena, then out at the dancefloor.  
  
My, did they not look busy, in a non-busy sort of way. Joyfully busy, that was it.  
  
He tipped his head far back, straining his neck to look up at the ceiling. Shutting his eyes he ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the back momentarily.  
  
"I'll get us something to...drink." He muttered, getting up to leave. Relena fastened her eyes on him as he made his way to the punch. She watched him, her head easing to the side as she did so, hair falling over her shoulder with the slow move of it.  
  
About that time five seats around her cleared: someone sat down behind her, slipping two, sweaty hands around her waist. Relena bucked, nearly jumping from her seat, and looked over her shoulder sharply at the offender. The grin was as startling as it was unexpected.  
  
"Got you good." Denna said, grinning a little savagely.  
  
"Beast." Relena scoffed, taking on a more easy-going manner. She looped an arm over the back of her chair, smiling, eyes bright. "How are you?"  
  
"So far, so good. Where's Teddy?"  
  
"Teddy?"  
  
"The teddy bear guy, Heero." Relena arched an eyebrow lightly.  
  
"I don't think it wise to call him that to his face."  
  
"Really?" Denna glanced around, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Hey, Teddy bear, you with the drinks, serve your lady here!"  
  
She let her hands fall, curling her fingers around Relena's dangling arm, watching carefully, eyes glowing. After a moment, she pulled back, shoulders stooped as she propped her hands on her knees and locked her elbows.  
  
"You're right, he hates that." Relena shook her head slowly as Denna added, "Mind if I take a sip of your punch?"  
  
Once Heero seated himself beside Relena again and handed her the drink he had brought he leaned back, hooked his thumbs in the flap of his pants' pockets and stared out, away from Denna, purposely avoiding eye contact, supposedly. Denna stared at the back of his head, humored beyond belief.  
  
"My God, Lena. Well then. May I?" Relena shrugged, handed her the punch.  
  
Denna slurped at the stuff for a minute or so before giving it back.  
  
"So, where did you meet this guy?" She jerked a thumb at Heero's ear.  
  
Relena glanced at him thoughtfully, seeing that he was watching them from the far corners of his eyes.  
  
"School. High school."  
  
"Ah, what a sweet story." Denna reached for Relena's punch again and Relena obligingly gave it to her. "High school sweethearts." Relena regarded Heero cautiously but he simply watched, slit-eyed, wary in a way that suggested a bit of exhaustion going with alert senses.  
  
Heero lay his head back against the railing that was the backing of his chair.  
  
"Actually, we saw each other at the beach first. Briefly." He said blandly.  
  
Denna looked up from Relena's drink, surprised.  
  
"Truly? That's so cute!" She seemed enthralled and satisfied, gossip-wise. She took another gulp - Relena suspected it to be the last drop - and went ahead to ask, "About when was this?"  
  
Relena and Heero were silent for a moment, absorbing what responses they felt coming from each other as well as considering possible, plausible answers, regardless of how easy the question was. Relena cleared her throat delicately.  
  
"Two years ago. Briefly." She gave a flitting ghost of a smile. "We came to understand each other better in school, though: he was in my class."  
  
Denna set the cup down at her feet and, at hearing this, clapped her hands happily.  
  
"So charming! Hmm. I'm going to get us some more of this, be right back." With that, she rose and left, humming a little to herself.  
  
Relena glanced at her friend and then at Heero, almost questioningly. She found his eyes to have been drawn elsewhere.  
  
She guessed it to have been more than an hour since they had come. In a way, she regretted having thought of the time: it meant she was not enjoying herself as much as she should have - could have, rather. Or not. It could mean her mind was simply searching for something to chew on as well. Ah well.  
  
She lifted her head a little at hearing the next song introduced - it had been requested, or so someone said. Heero did not move much, now bringing his arms back to support his head while staring up at the ceiling. Somehow, this made her feel as though she were on her own rather than with a partner, their entire position in this event more inadequately matched than ever before: they only had so much time - she had only so much time...although that was the last thing she had thought would come to her mind...  
  
The next she knew, Denna was tugging at Heero's arm.  
  
"Lord, get up!" He pulled his arm away from the taller girl, sat up and glanced at her darkly, his hands firmly gripping his knee caps. Relena nodded towards Denna and raised a hand in order to get her friend's attention.  
  
Denna waved her off, decidedly thinking Relena was not to be involved at the moment. She pushed at Heero's shoulder with the flat of her hand a little angrily.  
  
"Dance with her!" His stare now lay riveted on her, a tad bit reckless, and she shook out her shoulders in impatience. "Come on, if you're only here for a short time, get a move on! What kind of a date are you?"  
  
Relena smiled somewhat stiffly.  
  
"It's no trouble, Denna, please, sit dow - "  
  
"No! You, hush, you boy, get up!" She gestured toward the dancing crowd. Relena stood up, brushed nonexistent wrinkles out of her dress and pointed at a group of people who really were motioning for Denna's attention. Her friend turned, waved, and grumpily excused herself, the luck of which had Relena standing for another, silent minute. The requested song passed and another started up, one that had been asked for as well, like the other.  
  
She had just thought of sitting down again when three fingers took her at the wrist.  
  
"Would you like to dance?" Heero asked her, his tone flat but his touch a little concerned. Relena shrugged, meaning a nondescript 'yes'. He removed his hand from her arm but stood up, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
They walked out onto the dance floor, in single file, though not as far in as before. Heero held out his hand as he turned around to face her and Relena took it, stepping up close. Unlike the rest of the student body, rocking from side to side with relatively low complexity in their moves, they picked up on the way the knew how to dance, the way they had danced before.  
  
Standing opposite each other with enough space for another person to squeeze into, they slowly started - waltzing. It came natural to them, they had not even quite thought of how they would dance. The song, equipped with a beat they had trouble dancing to, ended a minute after and was replaced with something not as unfitting. Something older, a true 'oldie'.  
  
At first, Relena just glanced around, surveying what faces she knew and which she did not. She even saw some teachers dancing, their eyes still on their charges, but they seemed only partially occupied with that. Soon, her gaze lingered tenderly just over the curve of Heero's neck where it met with his shoulder, that muscled crook that joined head and body together.  
  
She found herself whispering, mouthing the words to the lyrics, brokingly, to herself. At looking up, she found Heero listening, indirectly, his eyes hitting just above her right ear. And she did not look away, rather playing with the extra cloth at the shoulder of his shirt, where her hand lay. Pretty soon his stare roved over her ear and into her face and they cautiously, gingerly glanced at each other, feeling all the more unseen as the seconds passed.  
  
Relena leaned in farther, her cheek touching up with a corner of his collar, resting against his collar bone. She felt him shift under her, his left arm drawing her right in farther toward their bodies, the hand that lay over her left shoulder blade spreading, going a little lower. She briefly nuzzled his shoulder, rubbing the side of her nose against the starched cloth beneath her skin.  
  
In the last minute of the song - she knew, she felt it to be the last minute, though, once she reminisced over the event in the days to come, she was not sure if this was true or not - she felt a weight add to her head, a warmth seeping in through her hair to warmly fan out over her scalp. And she turned her chin up to lean even farther into Heero, till a good section of her face was hidden by his neck and her breath blew out onto his skin. With her chin propped up against Heero's body that way, her entire head tilted upward, she could see to the ceiling.  
  
As that song leaked into the next they remained this way, softly dancing, gently moving, not breaking apart - the dance turned away from waltzing, though, but that did not matter.  
  
The weight rolled to lie against her head and she felt Heero's breath come through to prickle her scalp. He was careful to keep her on her feet all the while resting against her, his face held by a freshly-washed bedding of hair, the rainwater having given it a pleasantly cold smell. And he relaxed, a little.  
  
Denna watched from where she stood with the aforementioned group, smiling to herself. Truly charming.  
  
Relena's dress swayed against Heero's thighs: he had to readjust his head every time she moved her own. A dreamy, toothless smile spread over her face and she found herself hazing off into a light, mellow world unlike the one she was in then, the one with the bouncing, colorful strobe lights and the otherwise dark, dressy mood. The little world that encapsuled her, and him, seemed to made up of the white of his shirt, the tones of their skin, the dark, navy blue of his slacks...their combined body heat and touch, resting comfortably and trustingly against and into each other...   
  
And each song was succeeded by another, and another, and another...  
  
  
(To be concluded.)  
  
  
MWA-AHAHAHAHAHA!!! I know what I'm doing! - I'm not sure how long it will take, or how long or short it will be, but it's coming, it's coming along sweetly and nicely....my, I'll feel lost for a while afterwards, when it's...finished....  
  
Thank you for reading, I appreciate it a LOT! 


	24. Ch.24 Told from the heart and through a ...

Disclaimer: Usual applies.  
  
(There is any epilogue to top it all of, right after this!).  
  
Thanks goes to Jooles - without you, I doubt the ending would have come as it is, or that any part of this fic would have been as it turned out without your influence (all of it good!).   
  
  
  
Instinctively she glanced up at the clock. Her eyes widened slightly.  
  
"Heero." She said dead-pan and softly, almost hissing his name. She felt for and pawed at his wrist. "The time."  
  
They both looked up at the clock: 9:30.   
  
He parted from her, buttoned one shirt hole back up and headed for the door. At feeling some resistance pulling at his shirt sleeve he looked around: Relena had grabbed a chunk of it and had held on.  
  
"I'll just say goodbye." She murmured, motioning with her head and shoulders the crowd around them. He nodded, stopping. Signaling that he would wait he rested up against the wall, crossing his arms over his shoulders, surveying the ground pointedly. Relena nodded back, turning and hurrying across the room to different people.  
  
She said goodbye to as many as she could find. They all cheerfully waved, wishing her an exciting night - they had seen her with Heero and made their own conclusions about their relationship long ago. She then looked for Denna, who she found by the punch bowl chatting up a former senior of Linden High. She intervened apologetically.  
  
"I have to go now, but I wanted to thank you for convincing us to come." Denna blinked.  
  
"I didn't know I was that persuasive." Relena smiled: forceful, not persuasive. Forceful and a little character blind.  
  
"Either way, thank you." She said.  
  
"Anytime." Denna replied warmly. Relena fanned out the skirt of her dress.  
  
"For this, too." Denna jiggled her eyebrows playfully.  
  
"Looking good, Lena. Oh, I forgot: Lark should be better by tomorrow, just so you know." She said so quickly, shrugging it off as some sort of FYI notice the moment after having said it. Relena nodded, struggled with a suddenly lax tongue and shut up windpipe, before adding, "Well, good night. Good bye." She turned away slowly but was pulled back by her friend as Denna set her cup down hastily and drew her arms around Relena's small frame, hugging her tightly.  
  
"See you soon. I hope you had a good time." Relena's strength and knees nearly failed her again that time.  
  
"I did, thank you." Denna pulled apart, keeping her hands grasped firmly around Relena's arms, an inquisitive pull now forming the corners of her mouth in a questionable grin.  
  
"Say, how do you get along with a cold fish like that?" Relena blinked, repeatedly. Denna meant Heero. She shrugged, brushing Denna's hands off.  
  
"I just do, I guess." Denna wagged her head, thinking this to be a tolerable answer, and picked up her cup again.  
  
"Well, see you around." Relena waved, her smile thin and, if not for the estranged, flickering lighting, transparent.  
  
"Good bye."  
  
.  
  
Outside, the cold that hit her warm and slightly-sweaty skin felt delicious. She raised her arms a little, enjoying it for the time being, tilting her head back to give her neck a chance at the feeling.  
  
After a moment, she realized her companion to be absolutely silent.  
  
Turning her head around a little, she caught sight of Heero just behind her, perhaps four feet away. Smiling, she turned back to face the street and the breeze again. Oh, wonderful breeze, wonderfully nice, somehow cold breeze...  
  
He kicked at a stone and she watched it putter away into the gutter. Letting her arms fall, she stepped up to the curb, rubbing her arms. The breeze had lost its novelty quickly, the cold now not as pleasant as before.  
  
It did not take long before a cab turned the corner. She raised an arm, keeping one around her waist, and waved hecticly. It pulled up, sliding in close. Heero came, opened the door, stuck his head in and gave directions. Next, he stepped away and let her in, dropping in himself after she was seated.  
  
They were on their way to the highway when Relena tapped the driver's shoulder.  
  
"Can we please drop by somewhere else first?" She saw the driver shrug tiredly.  
  
She gave him the address to her little house, cupped between all the larger duplexes, condos and other such city needs, the place that had been - it was officially a past time now, jsut a memory - once, at some point, her home.  
  
Heero decided not to ask any questions.  
  
  
  
The cab driver agreed to wait. Relena took out her key and, without losing or dropping it, set it into the lock and let both Heero and herself in.  
  
She headed for the upstairs and he, after a moment's considerable hesitation, followed in after.  
  
She turned the corner and went into her room. Taking out a suitcase she piled in some things: the suit of clothes she had in her closet, tucked away from anyone's sight, that she used in times of political travel; a few personal items, including the aforementioned bear; nothing she had gathered in her stay, but certainly some toiletries, as they were taking a public flight and those took longer, she might need the simple things: brush, tiny flasks carrying shampoo and conditioner, etc.  
  
Once she had thrown that together she glanced around, bowing at the waist to the room; its blinds; the bed; the comforter and pillows on the bed; the closet doors; the nightstand;she turned on her heel and paused at the doorway, but she refused to look back. Steadying herself, she walked back to the stairs where Heero was, standing on the last step.  
  
She let her hand hang over the banister, her wrist drifting over its surface.  
  
She rubbed her toes into the rug beneath the sofa, glanced into the kitchen to make sure the faucets were not leaking. They were not.  
  
They walked out and stepped outsid. Then, she locked up.  
  
Glancing up at Heero, she thanked him for letting her have her way. They climbed back into the cab and started for the airport.  
  
  
  
While Heero silently paid the cab driver Relena stood at one of the airport entrances, a little unsure.  
  
Heero took her suitcase in hand and walked in, Relena following after. He reached the main gate leading to the section they needed to get to and handed over their tickets. They went through a long series of check-ins and security monitored gates before coming to the sit-in area of their plane. It was already stationed, ready for take-off.  
  
Heero made sure their seats were directly beside each other while Relena rested at the window in the waiting-area, following the few staff members scurrying around with luggage being loaded on the ground with her eyes.  
  
She turned when she heard him coming. Her suitcase was small enough to be kept during the flight, a plus point, since they would not have time to get it themselves and she felt a little attached to a few items inside. With one hand still splayed against the glass she asked how long till they would file into the plane. He told her four minutes: they were extremely late and had been asked to find a different flight in a few of the security gates: Heero had declined the chance, risking the possibility of being left behind nonetheless.  
  
He had secured two first-class seats for them: they were first in line and sat down quietly, Relena at the window, Heero in the seat at the isle. They both turned their heads to stare out the small window with its two panes of thick glass, out at the landing strip and the grassy stretches of green between each lane.  
  
A half hour later, the plane rumbled forward, turned slowly, headed down a runway. The engine grumped away loudly in the back and the mass vibrations around them made their ears pop. Lift-off was easy and smooth: the aircraft slid upward while the air around them felt as though it were trying to flatten them, making their heads feel heavy and a little achy. Relena gripped her armrests carefully, head lolling to lean against the window pane and she stared out at the back of the seat in front of her.  
  
Heero swallowed to relieve his ears of the pressure, the consistent build-up of pressure lift-off created, and with each gulp of air he heard the familiar 'click, click' of popping in his head.  
  
Yet, with the ease of flying an old trick to them, the air around was, if not tense, tedious. Although they knew what would happen, they were not sure of what to expect.  
  
Relena estimated it to be about almost six in the morning in Cinq. They would landed little after one o'clock and be at the Assembly Hall at roughly two o'clock. Their schedule was a little stretched but she had extremely little time - perhaps she could squeeze in an hour of sleep, but that would most likely do her more bad than good. At least, if she stayed up, she would not feel as sleepy as she would with that nap. Oddly enough.  
  
When the waitress came by offering drinks, shortly before breakfast, Relena shuddered. At hearing the stewardess' voice she found that she had been in a dozing trance: Heero asked for water without ice, she for tea.  
  
They came into a cloud and the world outside of the plane became distinctly unsure in its hazy, stringy cottonball-like atmosphere. Relena again deepened into that trance-like state while Heero worked with the headphones and a deck of cards (solitaire).  
  
A short moment of turbulation tipped the plane to the side and Relena helplessly rolled to the other side, her forehead bumping up with Heero's shoulder in a near-lifeless state. He glanced down at her. Pulling the blanket around her legs up farther to her waist he continued with his game of cards, now setting up a structure out of the deck on his tray. When the waittress came by again he wordlessly handed her their cups, empty but for a used teabag in one, and flipped Relena's collapsable tray back into place.  
  
When the sun brightened the cloud around them, Heero stopped his cards activity and glanced over Relena's head. Her shoulders now hunched as she huddled closer to his warmth, he stared out at the unreal feel of what peeked through the small window. The sun was truly blazing on the upper surface of the clouds, making them glow a hot and aloof white that stung. After a moment he bent over awkwardly, attempting not to bother Relena, and drew the shade down two thirds of the way.  
  
She felt the movement, though, and ended up turning away and sighing in the opposite corner, her nose in the nook of the window sill, her hair spread out around and up against the material of the chair. Thoughtfully glancing at the ear that poked through from amidst the strands of hair Heero bent over again and pulled the shade up a little farther. He liked the scenery.  
  
  
  
Still rubbing the tender, hot spot of skin on her forehead where she had leaned against something the longest in her sleep, Relena walked out of the corridor hooked up to the exit of the plane and looked around herself.  
  
They were in Cinq. She had slept away a surprising amount of time during the flight and they had come into the main airport of Cinq's capital. Somehow, the sleep had left her feeling more restless than before, but that was most likely accounted for by the things that were about to happen.  
  
Not long after, Heero joined her. Someone walked up and offered her a coat, an ankle-long, high collared coat of thin material. Following this someone took them both to a car with darkly tinted windows in which Relena's luggage was placed. She stepped in once the door was offered.  
  
Heero was given the choice to leave then and receive pay upon return to his flat or to come with for the ride. He opted for the ride, sliding in beside the Vice Foreign Minister.  
  
The car reached the Assembly Hall in twenty three minutes (according to Heero's watch, although it always seemed to be off ten or fifteen seconds). Relena was, from there, escorted to a room where she would change into something fitting for the occasion while Heero was brought backstage under the title of "personal guest".  
  
At being left alone just a few feet from the stage, Heero surveyed the occupants of the area and who was already on the stage. He dug his hands into the pockets of his slacks.  
  
The representatives and a small number of officials, as well as a newly-erected Nigerian Ambassador, had been collected and put together in a well-organized little group on one side, the far left, all seated in their borrowed chairs with their hands laced together in their laps, looking a little grim. He summed up a total of nine: nine people to come and be the voice of the NA asking for recognition of their country. Nine people to represent what voice in that country asked for a militaristic government, which he estimated to be fairly little but majority of votes counted for nothing in the decision - rather, power did.  
  
He glanced out over who stood behind the curtains - the "behind the scenes" crew and regulars - and counted up most of the people to represent the ESUN, Relena and roughly three others excluded.  
  
As he understood it, this would be much like a public polling: the public would watch while the politicians made their choices based on mass decisions voted on earlier and an opinion census of the countries joined in the ESUN - the roles, therefore, could be said to have been reversed between political member and citizen. Just how far the NA would go after this was unsure, as no one could exactly pinpoint if this would deter them from continuing or not.  
  
Although everyone certainly hoped so. This was another milestone in history to be breached.  
  
Thinking he caught sight of Lady Une, he nodded a greeting. The girl was with her, the one who's life he took with a nonexistent bullet. At receiving the calm outward appearance of Heero Lady Une rushed her steps a little to reach him, something happy in the way Mariemaia's wheelchair bounced on the way.  
  
"I heard you arrived safely." He nodded.  
  
"No glitches." He murmured to himself. Lady Une tapped the handle bar on Mariemaia's wheelchair thoughtfully.  
  
"Good. All is set." She pushed back her jacket's sleeve to take a peep at her wristwatch. "Five minutes left."  
  
Heero pulled a hand from his pocket and wiped the back of it against his forehead, his knuckles rubbing into his hairline.  
  
"Am I now dismissed from the Agency?" He asked after a short pause. Lady Une turned her eyes on him slowly, regarding him proofingly. She took her leisurely time in responding.  
  
"Yes. Thank you for your services, they were appreciated. You are aware of the regulations towards the final ending of a contract?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Good. Then it's settled: you are officially dismissed from the Preventers staff record by eight tomorrow." His hand fell to lie limply against his side and she added, "Anytime you feel like coming back, Heero Yuy, we could use you."  
  
He did not react to her statement. She turned and, reluctantly, reached out and patted him once on the shoulder. Then, she took hold of her charges' wheelchair to leave when Mariemaia jerked her arm out from her lap and grabbed Heero's left hand.  
  
His head snapped up and he stared inquisitively into her small face, her pale, but bright little face with the wisp of red hair swinging over to one side in a brief arch over her eyebrow. Her eyes, a sharp, yet light, clear blue, added to her over-all arresting character: their stares hooked into each other, her hand clenched over his tightly.  
  
Her lips made a little move but she made no sound. He let her hold his hand till she let go, and when she did, she swung herself around in her seat and let Lady Une roll her away, shoulders a little hunched, eyes unfocused and on the ground ahead of her.  
  
He stared after her, his body stiff, his hand hanging a little ways out from the rest of his body, wooden. They soon disappeared around a corner down the hall.  
  
He glanced away. Two minutes left.  
  
Global news stations were posted on any available space inside and out of the Assembly Hall: he thought he faintly heard the clicking and light sputters of machinery and cameras in the background, as much part of it as the people were. Then came the assorted mumblings of people, a sound unto itself, buzzing, low-pitched, fuzzy, repressed.  
  
Fogging his mind over kept those sounds, the clicking and tapping and muttered demands, from invading what space he had left from the tension growing in his skull. Spacing off. Detaching himself from the scope of a world he wanted no part in at that moment.  
  
Eat that, Freud.  
  
Even padded, soft-leathered boots made a sound on the wooden floor panels in this state of mind. Once the boots seemed to come nearer to him he turned his head up and wondered why the person coming closer seemed so hazy and imaginary. His eyes shut a little farther and he could feel his eyelashes, just barely, daintily touch his cheeks. Whoever it was in front of him was spiked through with streaks of dark brown, most likely the result of his eyelashes getting in the way, and once-distinct colors muted, softened and wallowed in each other.  
  
"Heero?"  
  
His sight cleared as he opened his eyes completely now.  
  
"Heero, it's about to begin." The voice was a little unsure: he guessed the undertone to be fright - naturally, it was very much expected. She locked her fingers together, staring at him openly and trustingly - as he alwasy remembered her to look at himn - the whites of her eyes showing clear round. Then she tucked her chin in and stared down at her interlaced fingers, each gripping at a knuckle with tight nervousness.  
  
"It should go well. We've all reached a decision."  
  
The right decision? Was it the right one, Relena? He heard Wufei asking something akin to that question - oddly enough, he was unable to recall it. He raised an unseen hand to her bangs and knocked at them, letting them bounce. She barely reacted.  
  
"I think my hands are wet. Perspiration." She fanned her hands in the air around her, the action seeming more frantic than practical although he was sure she only had the former in mind. "How am I going to hold onto the podium like this?"  
  
He did not know. He did not know how that would affect her grip, if it would just slicken it or weaken it.  
  
"I wonder if everyone's holding their breath. I can't be the only one - that alone is a selfish thought. No one is alone, in a mental sense." Heero cocked his head lackidaisically at her and she shrugged quickly. "You don't have to believe it. I do."  
  
He did not believe it. Perhaps she did not, either. Perhaps this was just a nervous tongue wagging away: she might contradict herself on those grounds in later hours. He was pretty sure she would. She only did this with people who she considered to know her well enough, to know...  
  
It was time. But the set time for something to happen was almost never the correct time: she looked at the stage and then quickly back at him, back at his eyes, back at a sure and present source of comfort and fortitude.  
  
"Thank you, Heero. I've been wanting to thank you but haven't had much of a chance. Thank you." Her fingers unlaced and she wrung them once: then, they cringed, curling in tightly, not quite making fists but forming a painful hold. She stared to the right, at the stage again, then ruefully back at him as though knowing that being alright in the end was not an issue - it was almost guaranteed by everyone she was surrounded by - but the doubt, the doubt of the next step, it killed.  
  
She wiped her palms on her hips, on the tasteful, elaborate jacket mad for her position, the embroidery crusting over the hem like mold and the pockets positioned just so - just so that no one's hands could ever fit into them for practical purposes without being twisted into an unnatural position. Such was the price of luxury. Her collar, starched and stiff, grazed at the underside of her jaw and downright frothy lace spilled out at the base of her neck, just above her collar bone. A stretch of fabric acted as a substitute for a less comfortable turtle neck.  
  
(The lace was not as abundant at the wrists as it was at the neck, and was saved the trouble of even existing at the kneeband of her dolled-up knickerboxers, although the embroidery, a thick, glossy braid-type, coiled around the cuffs of her shoes - indeed, her shoes had cuffs).  
  
She pulled at the lace: it had been a while since she had consciously noticed their softly itchy feel.  
  
Heero glanced away from the stage to the floor at his right: Relena's head swerved in his direction once again and the corners of her mouth, her small mouth, turned down.  
  
She raised her fingers and set them under Heero's jaw, tilting his head back up to the point that she could see into his eyes again.  
  
"Will you make me one promise?" Of course.  
  
Her hands receded to the point when only two fingers touched with his skin. In order for her to do this his head jutted forward a little but all he did about it was watch her alertly.  
  
She repeated herself and he himself: Will you? Of course. She tilted her head, waiting for him to answer in the most verbal sense possible. Her fingers pulled back further.  
  
Will you?  
  
Yes.  
  
Will you?  
  
Of course.  
  
"Will you?" She asked in a low tone, a low, gentle and gruff tone.  
  
Heero looked down at the floor and felt his eyelashes touch up with his cheek again. Of course. His mouth formed a small, close-lipped smile: he looked up again. She held her hands together, palm to palm, as if in prayer. He reached up and took hold of her pressed hands, pulling them close. Relena's fingers curled inward till he could fit his thumbs over her half-fists: her knuckles brushed against his chest and she was semi-forced to take a step closer.  
  
Her knee brushed against his: he leaned away, letting the wall support their weight. His hands folded over her fingers and she repeated the question. He agreed to it in a guttural voice, their faces so close that he made his voice no more than a harsh whisper. She felt his hair against her bangs and her lips parted.  
  
"Will you stay here till after?" She asked, her voice clear and questioning. He shut his eyes and nodded, their foreheads knocking into each other lightly. He heard her exhale breathily out of relief: they pried themselves loose of each other.  
  
She smiled jitterly at him. He tucked his hands back in his pockets, the small smile growing smaller but just as warm as it had been.  
  
They locked eye contact quickly and Relena stepped away, breaking it.  
  
People were waiting for her. Cameras were running and people were asking for her. The public wanted to see her come on and were wondering about her. She heard someone, a couple of someones, urge for her to hurry.  
  
And when she looked back he was in the same position, minus his tiny smile.  
  
No. No, wait a moment!  
  
She pivoted on her heel, flinging herself at him: it was dark, in that corner of the hall, that section, at least. She draped her arms around his shoulders and briefly pressed her cheek against the cloth of his shirt, the shirt that must not have belonged to him because it was too big: she felt his arms hover over her back, touching so very lightly, brushing up against her. Heero bent his head in and pressed his mouth to her forehead in such a delicate manner that it made a blooming, loving, glowing warmth surge through her body - than she had to spring away, his arms folding back from her again, and rush toward the steps of the stage.  
  
She climbed them at a slower pace, entering that strange lighting the cameras fixed up for televisions and telepads globe-wide, making her blind to whatever audience had grown out there.  
  
She was the first to the podium. At formally, cordially greeting the opposing party she turned with clicking heels towards the podium - her fingers slid over the edge before finding a comfortable grip.  
  
"As Vice Foreign Minister of the Earth Sphere United Nations, I find the decision for the new Nigerian nation - illegal as well as in opposition of a war pact it had formerly agreed on and broken apart from without notice.  
  
"Therefore, I decline the offer to formally and justly recognize the new country of Nigeria and its means of furthering its borders.  
  
"I will not agree to its terms: appeasement is not an option.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She felt the high-strung disappointment course through the Nigerian representative party: she knew what several of the consequences could be if each of the representatives on "her side", so to speak, voiced what she had said and stood by her and the ESUN's decision. This did not end anything, and this did not necessarily further it for the long run. But it certainly decided something: as each representative took to the podium and spoke out against the NA, Relena found that the world was now fully ready to accept the conditions of pacifism and had come to feel the need to defend it for the sake of peace. It was prepared to truly take on the meaning as well as the ideal of peace. Heero was ready to support it and live it. She was prepared to be its servant and live the ideal to the full. She was there for him as much as he for her through it.  
  
They were doing this for the sake of peace, for living and experiencing the freedom and for themselves.  
  
The hard task had asked a price but was worth everything she gave and would continue giving - this was her position in life.  
  
~~~ END ~~~  
  
  
  
  
  
There you have it. That is the standing end of "Starting Over", my first fic with chapters in it and my first with a working plot ^_^ . I hope everything happened as I had hinted at and promised: if not, perhaps things will go your way in my second fic "Meat Hooks" (it's not as gruesome as the title might suggest, it's really quite normal ^^) or the spankin' new "All They Got Left" - starring, Relena and Heero...  
  
Either way, I really want to thank everyone who read and everyone else who reviewed. I appreciate it all so much. This was amazing and has helped further me along in lots of little ways. Again, thank you.   
  
*Bounds off, raccoon-style* 


	25. Epilogue - Who laughs the last laugh.

Disclaimer: Usual applies.  
  
  
****EPILOGUE****  
  
  
  
  
Denna bounced along the street followed by a moody, limping stickfigure of a girl. One foot in the gutter and the other on the sidewalk, the taller of the two hopped on ahead while the other lagged behind, muttering to herself.  
  
"Grueling heat..." She mumbled, swatting at the fat, short braids hanging over her shoulders - Denna's attempt at changing Lark's 'look' to something slightly different.  
  
"Yay!" Denna sang.  
  
"...can't go swimming..."  
  
"Look at that, Lark!" Lark halted, balled up her fists, feeling the sweat gather in the creases of her skin between her fingers and in her palm with the irritability of a bull.  
  
"Be quiet!" She said snappishly, managing to keep herself from stomping in a tantrum. Denna stopped long enough to look over her shoulder antagonizingly.  
  
"Heat getting to you yet?" She asked coyly, one eyebrow lifted as her lips curled faintly.  
  
"No! Leave me alone." Lark wandered on behind, her damaged foot - now on the verge to recovery - giving her a limp.  
  
They stamped on.  
  
At turning into Lena's street they nearly bumped up with a slightly grizzled man in an oversized raincoat - chances were he was homeless. Shoulders drooping he walked on past them, a bottle and a dogleash - unconnected to any such animal - in either hand.  
  
They stared after him briefly, the moment lost in their minds soon after, completely forgotten soon enough. The sun had baked the concrete sidewalk to a dry, abrasive quality that made Denna regret wearing sandals, as her toes often scraped against it. When Lena's house came into view they both faltered to a stop, openly gawking.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Since when?"  
  
Denna ran on ahead while Lark did her best to keep up, stumbling over the rougher patches of sidewalk and having to lean against what building she was walking alongside of every so often to let the weight rest on her good foot.  
  
The moving van was parked directly in front of Lena's door and the door itself was open. Denna was nearly there, Lark pushed on. A few men came out the door supporting Lena's bed between them, bringing it into the van with rough delicacy. They were panting with the effort as Denna pulled up along the van wonderingly, letting a hand fall onto its side in astonished awe.  
  
Someone, one of the movers, came around and stared at her suspiciously.  
  
"Is something wrong here?" He asked tonelessly, his words lacking any interest in her doings but stiff. Denna shrugged, staring at the side of the van quieted dismay.  
  
"Is...whoever was living here, is she still here?" The man's forehead crinkled up into exactly five wrinkles that stretched from one side of his head to the other. The corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes narrowed, if not focused on her.  
  
"No."  
  
"Odd." Denna muttered, her voice breaking a little. She heard Lark's uneven steps behind her.  
  
"Where is she?" The smaller girl asked sharply. Denna raised her shoulders in a shrug, flopping around to lean against the van and run her hands over her face. The mover glanced down at her staunchly, unsure.  
  
"I don't know." Denna replied although the question had not really been directed at her. Lark waved the comment off and stared expectantly at the mover, who shrugged as well and pulled at the cap on his head.  
  
"Can't help, sorry." With that, he left, walking into the house and, ten minutes later, coming out with a box filled with clothing. Lena's clothing. Denna watched, bewildered, while Lark regarded each living being seemingly involved in the moving of her friend's things with irrationally growing anger. She slapped her hip a few more minutes after, her eyes darting down at the tires of the van before going up to Lena's bedroom window.  
  
"Did she - ?"  
  
"No."  
  
"She would've - "  
  
"I'm pretty sure."  
  
"Shouldn't we ask around?" Lark cried out. Denna performed another, hapless shrug.  
  
"I don't know. Perhaps."  
  
"Perhaps? She's gone!"  
  
"That seems to be it." Denna sounded unbelievingly disheartened. "So?"  
  
"So we need to find out what happened."  
  
"Do we?" Lark stared at her incredulously, quivering. "She's probably home again."  
  
"Or something might've occured!"  
  
"We'd be seeing the police here instead of a moving van where that the case." Lark remained stubbornly against finding a plausible reason for Lena's disappearance. She refused for something that simple, that sensible, to be the result of this search.  
  
"She'd have told us." She muttered spasticly, spit flying from between her teeth a little. Denna bumped herself away from the van, keeping her eyes on the gutter. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants - camouflage pants that zipped up at the hip - to find an old candy wrapper in the slightly-gritty bottom of it. She crunched this up in her fist for a moment before letting go, her arms sagging as though their weight were suddenly too much.  
  
"That's what I thought." She said plainly. Lark curled her arms around herself, hugging them to her chest, wrists cramping in the position. The back of her neck felt itchy.  
  
"She didn't say anything last night?"  
  
"No." Denna stepped onto the sidewalk, sidling up against the wall of Lena's house, propping herself against its warm side. Lark followed after, staring up and down and at the movers, and from them to the windows and then back at the movers. It was all very bewildering.  
  
They seemed to have finished. A few of them even began to close up the van and Lark stopped one of them as he left the house.  
  
"Where are you takin these things?" He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.  
  
"Why are you asking?" Lark jerked a thumb at the house.  
  
"We knew her. She was our friend." The mover reached up to rub the back of his neck.  
  
"Eh, a number of places - second hand, auctions..." Lark stared dumbly at him for a moment, her small hand slowly receding from his arm. Denna had long since frozen against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted against the plaster of the house. Her eyes remained widened to a considerable degree, her mouth a slim, straight line of red in her face.  
  
"Er...thank you."  
  
"Sure thing." He left. Ten minutes later the house was locked up, in front of their eyes, and the movers via the moving van left the street, going the way they had come. They had, in turn, looked back at the forlorn, forsaken house, unbelieving. The entire affair left them numb.  
  
Denna limply slid a hand around her neck, letting her fingers tighten a little. They stared up at the boarded windows, the suddenly unwelcome feel of the area. It seemed like an unusually little, cramped space now rather than a snug home. Perhaps not a home. But a snug house it was not, not anymore.  
  
Lark was the first to move.  
  
"Come on. I need something to drink." She said dully, backing away and onto the curb of the sidewalk, wary of her surroundings. Denna looked over her shoulder at her sadly, confused, eyes asking many questions that but voiced those of her friend. Before any questions could be asked further Lark turned on her heel completely, marching crossing the street, heading in the direction of a coffee shop nearby that she had coincidentally learned the location of through Denna.  
  
Denna glanced up at the house once more. She sighed, heaving a large, noisy exhale. Why? Oh Lena. They had such a good time together, even in fits of tension and alarming moments (of which there had been a thankful few). Any depressive loops in day-to-day activity had eventually seen Denna here, on the couch that was now on its way to who-knew-where. She had been so easy to talk to, even though she had often been moved to give advice without urging.  
  
She stepped back slowly, her hands creeping into the pockets of her pants again. One came up to stroke her hair - still auburn, she had left it the original color rather than mess with it just yet - before slipping it back in. Lena had been so endearing, even Lark had agreed, at some point, to that.  
  
Looking around, at the sky, at whatever lay across and at both ends of the street, she found it all to have lots its shine. Her skin broke out in goose pimples and she gave a small shudder. She had been kind...  
  
Then, she followed after Lark, a hardened, heavy clump of something hanging inside her chest, encased in nothingness but existing of bullying worry, alarm, depression.  
  
The street she left behind became unfamiliar territory again, crossed and walked through beforehand but featureless. A painful track of memory she embedded in the caves of her character to be pulled out only while reminiscing, and even that activity would be done lightly from then on. She felt it to be the same with Lark.  
  
They never could remember if they saw anything of that street again. They probably passed by it or through it at some point, but without the needed recognition of making the event important. They had been sorely let down - and tested to an unneeded degree. This had been a low blow. And although they always wanted to find out what happened, they never extended their necks far enough to find out. They would not be cut like that again, and recoiled from that sort of pain then on.  
  
She had never had any pictures of them taken. Them, or her, or all three together. Lark later on admitted to having searched the boxes the movers brought out, just in case. All she had seen was clothing. And all of it looked so impersonal once it had been shipped out of the right establishment, from home to van. Almost as though it had never belonged to the girl they knew to be their friend.  
  
"They'll hurt. I know. I've told a terrible lie. This will affect them. But rather that than somehow bring on an upheaval of their normal life, or somehow endangering it through their knowing me any further. Rather that. Rather that than almost anything." Relena had said this tersely, in private, a touch of regret in her tone, her voice powdered over with sadness.  
  
Oh Lena.  
  
"Where'd you go?..."  
  
  
  
Thank you very much for having followed this to the end, even through to its epilogue, something I had not expected to write in the beginning stages of this fic. Either way, I'm glad to have written this, something as I believed it would have happened. And I couldn't leave out my two original characters still in Canada - they deserved a bit of the end. (Longwinded, ne?). Anyways, thank you again!!  
  
And here come the personal "Thank you"'s: Jooles, again, you're awesome, "A Boarding School Facade" is, by far, one of the best fics I've ever read (here's a shameless fic promotion: GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, IT IS FANTASTIC!!). Your insight and humor and comments have all been highly appreciated, I wish you good luck in everything.  
  
Vixen, I'm glad to have met you, I really enjoyed our discussions, as well as your pennies' worth concerning "SO". Thanks!  
  
Nightheart, I've enjoyed your reviews immensely, thank you. ^_^ !!  
  
Everyone who has reviewed and read as well, my appreciation of you abounds! Thanks a gazillion!! 


End file.
